


Right Where It Belongs

by MessOfCurls



Series: Wax and Wane [19]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Blood and Gore, Break Up, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Climbing Class, Death, Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mutilation, Post-Break Up, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Game(s), Relationship(s), Spoilers, Substance Abuse, The Washington Siblings Are Everything, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessOfCurls/pseuds/MessOfCurls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back at the lodge, Josh takes his sisters' deaths and breakup with Chris badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His breath steamed the window of the ski lift as the cold glass pressed against his temple. Usually the ascent filled Josh with excitement, but this time only dread crept in, spilling over the cracks that had begun to form.

Solitary footsteps on virginal snow. Soft crunches marked his return.

He needed to go back. The compulsion was so strong that it bordered on obsession. It didn't mean he wanted to be there.

The lodge was deserted. He walked around beneath the lofty ceiling in perfect silence. All the familiar sounds - the creaking of wooden beams and the muted rush of wind through the trees beyond the rattling windows - were absent. He didn't even hear his own footsteps.

That was the couch they’d curled up on together, sheltered beneath a massive woollen blanket. There in the corner was the wooden planter they used to stand the Christmas tree in. By the door was the coarse-bristled welcome mat, once home to snowy boots. That was the stool he’d passed out on. There was the phone Sam used to call for help. That was the cupboard beneath the sink where they kept the flashlights they'd used to go out looking for them, shouting their names desperately into the darkness. There was the chair he'd sat in when the police arrived.

That night had touched everything, destroying his fondest memories and replacing them with poison. The house was haunted.

Everything had turned to ashes.

 

 

 

 

He missed them. All of them. His sisters, his friends. Chris…

The bench was damp with melted snow and his jeans were wet, but he didn’t care. He took another swig. The beer sloshed against the sides of the glass bottle.

Fuck, he missed him so much he could barely stand it. He was at his lowest ebb, but the comforting embrace and softly spoken words never came.

_“...this is...you’re...you’re breaking up with me.”_

It was better this way, he had to keep telling himself that. This wasn't about him and Chris. This was about them. It was why things had to happen like this. Chris would never understand, no matter how hard he tried to or how far Josh dragged him down into this - and he would drag him down, whether he meant to or not, like he always did. And Chris would've let him, that's what hurt the most. He'd have followed him down into this dark pit of his own making without a second thought, the caring fucking idiot.

_“I can't have a fresh start. With you. I can't. I can't_ do _that, okay...? We're done.”_

He'd said things - horrible things designed to sever the bonds of a friendship that had been a lifetime in the making, wedging so much hurt between them that the gap could never be bridged - to push him away and make it easier for Chris to let him go. So many things he didn't mean and wished he could take back. 

He'd hurt him. Josh knew even then just how much pain he'd inflicted. Years of friendship gave him the intimate knowledge that enabled him to cut closest to the bone, and he’d abused that privilege, exploiting the other man’s vulnerabilities with expert precision. Chris wanted to help him, naively insisting, almost pleading with him that they could at least try. Together they could work through it like they always did. But this time was different. He was broken, or so close to breaking that it was inevitable, just a matter of time.

No amount of love and patience - the band aids and superglue of their relationship - were going to work this time, because it wasn't just the fact that Chris didn't understand that made Josh leave. The problem was he never could.

The empty bottle landed with a dull thunk in a nearby snow bank.

But he was going to do right by him now. He was going to put him back together again when he’d been the one to so cruelly rip him apart. The heroic leading man, though he didn't know it yet, with a fresh start. It didn't matter that it wasn't with him. If Josh could help him when he couldn't even help himself, then all the wrong he'd done would count for something.

 

 

 

 

The decision to stop taking his meds was several tempestuous days in the making. The habit, the ritual… it was so deeply ingrained that not taking them had never seemed like an option. Standing atop a precipice with the three prescription bottles in hand and the vast gorge below separating him from the rest of the world, he looked down at the ski lift, his eyes following the cables, spider web thin from this distance.

Could he do this?

Before he could change his mind, he whipped the rattling bottles through the air, where they became specks and disappeared into the gulf.

_Just like skimming stones._

He needed to be clean: to think clearly, his thoughts uninterrupted by clinical distractions. 

 

 

 

 

The first day passed without event. The next day, he heard them for the first time. Cold turkey, a clean break, and they began to speak.

A whole day and night passed in the grip of withdrawal. Drenched in a feverish sweat, half naked in his parents’ bed, he gibbered at nobody as he tangled himself up in damp sheets. Mere days later and there they were: fully formed. Finally with him. Reborn.

They weren’t real, he knew that. They were gone as far as the rest of the world was concerned. But as the days passed, the lines began to blur and he started to care less and less about that trivial detail, embracing each moment they decided to visit him as if it might be the last time all over again.

_Just because it's in your head doesn't mean it's not real._

 

 

 

 

A brief period of clarity. Methodical sketches. Straight lines. Rulers. Thinking clear, focused thoughts. He was sitting at a desk, working by the light of an old anglepoise lamp. He was no expert, but what he'd designed… it was good. A few tweaks and it would work. The body double would be expensive, but what else did he have to spend his money on now?

Lists helped to keep up the momentum. Lists and schedules to keep propelling him forward. Diagrams and the careful slotting of rusty blades. Blueprints and the connecting of wires. Puzzle pieces fitting together to form the beginnings of a beautiful picture. Everything was taking shape. 

With a pull of a lever, the saw blades whirled to life, spinning with a wicked din that stretched his mouth into a grin. No half finished project, not this time.

Everything was fucking perfect. Fucking _delightful._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_You're doing it again._

_I am?_

_Yeah. Have you seen the time?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

A hand batted his own away. “I wasn’t standing like that.”

“No?”

Hannah shook her head, “No, I was facing this way.”

Josh turned the doll slightly. “Like that?”

His sister nodded, “Yeah, like that.”

He smiled up at her, basking in the warming glow of her approval. “It’s all about the details.” he joked.

She laughed, and the sound tugged at his heart and made him homesick, “Yeah… Did you bring it?”

With an eager nod, he picked up the diary with great reverence and unhooked the catch holding the dollhouse roof in place.

“Perfect.” she beamed down at him.

Her eyes were wet and dark like tar, her skin ghostly pale in the moonlight. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_T-then listen to me. Just me. Please…..just. Come. Home._

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was snowing again: thick billowing gusts of white powder swirling around the lodge beyond the window panes, blowing sideways at times. The sound of it whistled along the chimney and roared distant in the fireplace.

And there he was in the middle of it, calm and still in the centre of the snow globe.

“Josh?”

“Hmm?” He looked over his shoulder.

Beth was standing at the foot of the stairs, her demeanour marked by an air of agitation. “What are you doing?”

“I was…” he pointed at the window with a lazy gesture.

She made an exasperated sound, “How are you going to be ready in time if you’re staring out the window all day?”

“...M’sorry, Bee…”

He swallowed as he pulled the shutters closed with clumsy fingers and heavy arms.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_I….we c-can..we’ll fix things together. You and me, J. It’s not gonna be perfect, but it’s s-somethin._

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’d missed a session. Somewhere along the way he’d lost track of time and had forgotten to return to civilisation long enough to let the shrink try to pick at his head. If he didn’t do something, everyone might find out where he really was.

It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, taken straight from the pages of high school 101. I’ll tell my mom I’m staying at your house and you tell your mom you’re staying at my house, then we can go to the party. Easy. Only this time the people being fooled had somewhat changed. His parents thought he was back at college retaking his first year again. Meanwhile, Chris and his friends assumed he was at home with his parents. As long as they didn’t talk, the lie could continue. Without his sisters to bridge that gap…

Without them…

He text Dr Hill, asking to reschedule, hoping it would be enough for now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_.....if...if you ever feel like that again, like escapin’....don’t go---don’t go somewhere like that. Just...you can come here. I---I don’t ever wanna feel like I did tonight, and I don’t want you to either._

 

 

 

_...I wasn’t... trying to escape._

 

 

 

 

 

 

A vaguely remembered day spent in the home cinema eating microwave popcorn as a stream of lurid images bathed him in an eerie light. It was research. He was getting into character. The mask sat casually atop his head, pulled back enough to let him shove the meagre meal into his face, though he didn’t taste it. His boots, bloody like the overalls he wore, were propped up on the back of the seat in front. To the casual observer, he almost looked relaxed. 

He was never relaxed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Then I’ll fix you. That’s...w-what best friends are f-for.....so come home._

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two weeks in and he lapsed again. It was such a small thing to lose it over, but it put him off schedule for a couple of days.

The music box.

When he opened it and the song began to play, he cracked. That tune, over and over and over and over. He kept winding it up, feeling sicker each time but unable to deny the compulsion. He didn’t know how he found himself curled up in the empty bathtub with the box beside him, its tinny melody echoing off the tiles. 

It was the first time he truly left himself, and for that he was strangely grateful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Just… just tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm wrong and I'll… I-I'll come. Please._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Slow down, slow down, slow down…_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’d gone away again, his mind absent while his body went on without him. Maybe a few days had passed this time since he’d last checked in. His hands were covered in blood; thick, dark and reddish black up to the elbows. His blood?

No. Not his blood. He was holding a knife.

Josh looked up at the pig carcass hanging from the ceiling. Its skin was a sickly shade of slimy pink in the dim light.

Ah. So this is why he'd come back. This required a degree of concentration. 

Okay, he was in the basement of the old hotel. He’d been spending more and more time down here beneath the lodge as the days went on. When had he last been outside?

His boots were wet. It must’ve been sometime recently.

The pigs.

There we go, now he knew.

The pigs had been heavy. _Real_ fucking heavy. But he’d done it, dragging the bags behind him through the snow as he marched back up the hill, leaving strange tracks in his wake.

It was better down here. Down here he didn’t have to think about how horribly normal everything seemed up there in the unused rooms.

Well, they _had_ been unused, for the most part. Early on - back before he'd kicked the meds - he’d stayed up there, daring to go into their rooms and look at clothes and possessions that would never be worn or used again. It still smelt like them.

Half a bottle of his dad's scotch and an accidental doubling up of his dose made a mess of him. He somehow ended up in Hannah’s closet, slumped in the corner surrounded by a dead girl's shoes and the hems of her coats and dresses brushing against him like ghosts. His demons gushed out of him in a torrent that left his insides raw and empty until eventually his body gave up and shut down for a while.

It was different at the memorial, a lifetime ago. He hadn't even been able to say a eulogy. Cold. Frozen. Stagnant. _That_ was what death looked like, not fresh and bloody, still emanating the heat of its host's beating heart. Death was cold. It was freshly turned earth and impersonal store-bought flower arrangements. It was photos in cold frames of lifeless faces, destined to never smile again. It was standing in the chill air powerless to do anything. 

But not in that closet. Oh no. He’d shouted slurred words and bared his soul to it, to himself, to anyone or anything that would listen.

He was so very alone back then. Back before he heard them.

“You and I are _very_ much alike, buddy.” he said to the pig, meeting its beady sightless eyes with an air of amusement as he began to gather up armfuls of viscera from the floor, dumping the wet mess into a trash bag for later use.

Gutting the pig, letting everything out in one violent, debilitating burst. Ripping out its innards, exposing everything against its will.

Apt.

The trash bag was fit to bursting. Taking care not to slip on slick tiles, Josh tied it up and slopped it inside another. It would be a bitch to clean up if it sprang a leak. Besides, he needed its contents if he was going to make the dummy convincing. 

Innards. Just like his own.

He put the bag down and felt his own stomach, his palm smearing blood over the unwashed shirt. A tiny part of him, for the shortest of moments, wondered if the dummy was even necessary. Did it matter what Chris decided in the end? He could just--

_No. Stick to the plan. You have to show them. You promised._

With the bag out of the way, he attempted to mop up some of the mess. It’s all he seemed to be doing these days: dirtying and tidying. Soiling and cleaning. Blood and sweat and vomit and bleach.

There was so much work to do.

“Not long now.” he murmured as the mop head trailed swirling red patterns across the floor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_......you blame yourself f-for too much. It.....it’s not always about what y-you did, or w-what you didn’t do…._

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was crying again. It was getting fucking embarrassing by this point, not that there was anyone to witness it. That was the problem.

They'd gone out into the snow hand in hand without him one night and didn't respond to him, even when his calls became frantic. Clinging to the doorway, he pleaded for them to come back until his voice was hoarse, but they wouldn't listen.

Everything was covered in a thick white carpet of snow, horribly bright in the moonlight. The trees threw long, wicked shadows across it.

He thought he heard noises out there in the night. Terrible inhuman sounds. He didn't follow, returning sobbing and defeated to the darkness inside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_You think no one needs you, that you’re wrong or something, but I---I need you._

 

 

 

 

 

 

“How’s my leading lady?”

The photo was the most recent he could find. Sam looked as beautiful as ever. Breathtaking. She was going to be his starlet. His Scream Queen. His Jamie Lee, Neve, Janet and Sigourney all rolled into one. She was going to shine so fucking bright it would burn their eyes right out of their skulls.

_She wasn’t there though, was she?_

His mood soured, flipping from an overwhelming affection to resentment in the space of a few heartbeats.

“Where… where were you when all this was happening, huh?” He drove another thumbtack through the photo to hold it in place. “Where the hell were you?”

Troubled gaze flicked from photo to photo, eventually settling on a face he knew so well it hurt. It wasn’t just the pain of cruel talons clawing at his emotions. No, a real, physical pain. An aversion, nearly.

“Or you? Where the fuck were _you?_ Out of everybody, you s-should’ve...”

“That’s unfair.”

None of this was fair. None of it. But that wasn’t what she meant.

“But they should’ve… _I_ should’ve--”

“They weren’t there when it happened, Josh.”

It was Beth who gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. After a moment of self-directed frustration, Josh tried to calm himself. “I know. I-I _know_ that…but...”

It was too much.

With his sweat slick hands pressed to the wall, he let the nausea force bile from his stomach. His throat burned, even when he was reduced to nothing more than dry heaves.

“Mom, should I get the nurse?”

He shook his head, “No, Han… I’m… no…” Lightheaded, he stood up shakily and wiped watering eyes and damp lips on his sleeve.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh…” Beth wrapped her arms around him, coaxing him into a hug.

He let her cradle his head to her shoulder for a long time as his breath evened out and his stomach settled. “We can show them though, right?” he asked weakly.

Beth leaned back and held her brother’s face in her hands. “Yes, J.” she said with a patient smile, “We can show everyone.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

_....might not be much, but….l-listen to me, maybe? Or….or I’ll listen, if you wanna t-talk….just…._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_I’ll stay with you. Whatever you want. Anything, just…..we gotta go home._

 

 

 

 

 

 

Putting together a remembrance board and sticking rosettes and trinkets to it, scavenged from their belongings. Testing out the voice modulator and finding his voice surprisingly steady, easy and even. Writing the note with his own blood, pricked finger bleeding but not hurting. Focused again, feeling nothing other than an all-consuming determination that kept his eyes open and sleep at bay.

For a while it was good again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_LEAVE ME ALONE._

 

 

 

 

Shouting at nobody. Part of him knew that was happening, but it wasn't acknowledged.

“What? What do you want from me? I've done everything you asked me to! What more do you want?”

His breath fogged the dusk air as he paced back and forth, kicking up snow. Why were they so angry? He was trying so hard. They had to see that.

“It's not good enough.” Hannah said through a scowl.

“Do you _want_ this to work?” Beth asked.

Calloused hands balled into fists. “I don't... have to listen to you anymore. I'm done.”

“You're done when we say you're done.”

He froze.

The voice came from behind him, uncomfortably close. Cold, dead breath chilled his neck and filled him with fear. He didn't dare turn around, half-knowing the horror that would greet him. “Okay… okay… I-I’m sorry.” his voice was little more than a shaking exhale.

“Do you. Want this. To work?” Hannah asked again, the question whisper soft and deafeningly loud against his ear.

“Of course I do. I'm trying…” he fell to his knees, making imprints in the snow. “I'm really trying. _Please_ …”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_.....J….you awake?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

How long had he been out this time?

Josh hugged the gas canister to his chest and sighed with a terrible sadness when he began to remember where he was.

_You’re losing your fucking mind._

The first time he’d used it for a valid reason. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. He needed to know how long it could knock someone out for so he could plan accordingly. Using himself as a test subject, he set the timer on his phone and breathed it in.

Forty two minutes of uninterrupted blackness passed. Minutes spent completely switched off, with no thoughts to trouble him. Gone. He hadn’t thought he could turn it off that easily. Josh and the canister soon became fast friends.

“Josh.”

He looked up groggily from where he was slumped against the wall.

“Just a bit longer. Hold on a little bit longer. Can you do that?”

Knuckling his eye with one hand, he nodded at the twins, sniffing as the canister fell from between his knees with a metallic clatter. He slowly got to his feet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Tell.. tell me what to do. P-please. I’m so tired.._

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was getting better at pretending. Greeting the delivery man at the bottom of the hill and signing the delivery docket had been easy enough. With the box of newspapers in hand, he’d even managed to crack a lame joke before retreating to the lift.

Yes. Every day it was getting easier to pretend. He just had to work at it, just for a little while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Just listen to me… please, J..._

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

It was difficult to keep his voice from cracking. “...Dying?”

Hannah and Beth shared a look over the Ouija board. Their silence was deafening in the stillness of the library, faces pale in candlelight. Eventually they turned to Josh. Hannah gave him a sad smile and nodded softly. “Yeah…”

At this, morbid questioning gave way to an utterly devastated look.

“But not for long.” Beth was quick to reassure him. “Just for a second and it's all over. I promise.”

With his head in his hands and his eyes tearing up, he finally spoke again. His voice was little more than a whisper. “...Everything?”

A cold hand found his own.

“Everything.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Please, J..._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_You….you gotta eat, J. Otherwise, y-you’re not gonna get better..._

 

 

 

 

 

 

A week left to go. When he looked at his reflection, he barely recognised himself. It wouldn’t work if they didn’t recognise him either. Food passed his lips on more than one occasion, simple fuel to keep him ticking over. Now it was a necessity and he doubled his efforts, eating as much as he could handle if only to get the colour back on his cheeks. After all, he was playing two roles when his guests arrived. He had to get back into character.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Slow down..._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_...Please slow down..._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Nearly there, we’re nearly there now._

 

 

 

 

 

 

"How do I look?" Hannah asked anxiously, turning to her siblings as she brushed down her prom dress with increasingly clammy hands.

"Come on, Han. You look good. Not sure how many times I can keep telling you before you'll believe me." He glanced over at Beth, who looked back at him in the mirror’s reflection as she applied her lipstick. “You too.” he added.

His attention returned to the photo propped up at the base of the mirror. It was him. Just him. Taken a year or two ago, but it was close enough to what he needed. He studied it and copied the expression of his former self.

The shower was cold without the boiler working, but it had cleaned him up. With his hair washed and the dirt of the seemingly endless weeks scrubbed away, he was ready for his cue.

The twins joined him by the mirror, standing either side of him as he took in their reflection. The three of them there…

_Man the fuck up._

Josh smiled weakly then glanced at the photo. A few adjustments later and there it was. Good as new.

_Perfect._

He pulled on his hat with the smile fixed on his face. “Knock ‘em dead.”

His phone buzzed in his back pocket, tearing his attention away from their reflections. With a casual swipe of his thumb, he answered it.

“...Hey, man.”

“...He-.. Jo.. ..we..”

“Hello?”

“...You're crack… up..”

“I'm here, bro.” he took a final look in the mirror. He was alone now. “...I'm here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking to the lodge, Sam reflects on the events of the year gone by.

“So… Jess and Mike?”

Sam met Chris' gaze with raised eyebrows and a shrug. The revelation was a surprise, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Jess was always asking after Mike; always watching him from a distance. She thought to remark on it, but held her tongue. It wasn't their business.

“Was it really this cold last year?” she asked, changing the subject. 

“Yeah. Maybe a skirt wasn’t the best idea, huh?”

Sam narrowed her eyes before her expression softened with treacherous amusement. She flattened the garment in question with her palms. 

Chris’ chuckle steamed the air around him as he offered Sam his hand. “Hey, it’s a nice skirt. I’m just saying, maybe pants next time?”

Taking his arm with a smile and a small curtsey, Sam stepped over the fallen branch then hitched up her backpack. Their gaze turned north; eyes raised to the snow-capped peaks looming over them, all around. Walking side by side through the snow, her mind wandered.

_Last year._

Her easygoing smile faltered, but Chris didn’t see.

A year. Had it really been that long? So much had happened since then, and yet, now they were back on the mountain, it felt like it could’ve happened yesterday. The land was in snow’s white grip, just like before, untouched by the events of the outside world, as if time stood still in that far-removed place.

Ignoring her aching calves, tired from the incline, she mused instead on the setting of their reunion. The forest was close and dark around them; made melancholy by the echoes and reminders that came with each step; intrinsically bound to their surroundings.

Josh could’ve picked somewhere more convenient; somewhere not quite so littered with memories - both the good and the bad. But that was the point, wasn’t it? No matter how much he tried to shrug it off as mere coincidence, there was no denying how steeped in importance this place had become; not only for Josh, but for the rest of them, too. And so she hadn’t questioned it; hadn’t even thought to suggest otherwise. She knew better than that. Once Josh set his mind on something, that something was going to happen.

“Ah, man...” Chris’ phone lit his face with an eerie glow, casting strange shadows around him. He waved it in the air a few times before giving up and returning it to his coat pocket with a grumble.

“Expecting a call?”

“No, but it'd be nice to have the option, you know?”

Chris paused before ducking under an uprooted tree trunk blocking their path. Once through, he held out his hand to Sam again, but this time she declined and stooped under it without his help. He gave her an amused ‘suit yourself’ shrug and walked on a few paces. She quickly caught up.

Side by side once more, he finally spoke again. “Has he… talked to you?”

There it was. She’d known it was only a matter of time till the question came. Despite how much Chris tried to hide it, Sam could tell he’d wanted to ask for a while. She'd seen it in the hopeful way he spoke about Josh; heard the fondness in his tone when he recounted his story on the ride across the chasm. He’d been making jokes since they’d met down at the station, but there was an unspoken restlessness about him and distraction in his eyes. 

“Not since the email.”

It was true: Sam hadn't kept anything from Chris. He knew she and Josh talked. It didn't lessen the fact that she hated being the middleman in this arrangement - forced to walk a delicate, unbiased tightrope, agonisingly thin at times. But, with bestfriend duties to fulfill, she figured it was her burden to bear. Still, there was something painfully optimistic about the way he sometimes asked - trying to glean something he could cling to from her for reassurance - that didn’t make her feel any better about her neutral stance.

“Oh. Okay.”

Chris' answer was casual enough, but Sam didn't miss the hint of disappointment. What else did she expect, though? She'd been there in the wake of a break up nobody had anticipated; had been just as stunned as the others, maybe more so. Her two friends had always been close; pretty much joined at the hip. Now they were severed in a way that didn’t seem right at all, let alone real. For some reason, she'd naively assumed that her two best guys were immune to the regular dating drama that befell the rest of their friendship group; that they were somehow above all that. But then, nothing about the past year had been regular or could be reduced to something so tawdry. The rules had changed.

_“I'm fine, okay? Seriously.”_

They'd both confided in her, separately of course, but in ways she hadn’t expected. Chris touched base now and then, but seemed to hold her at arm's length if she got too close; shrugging off her attempts at playing confidant with an evasiveness that didn’t seem right for someone who had always been so outwardly open and affectionate.

_“It's been… nice. Talking to you. About it.”_

Conversely, Josh's gradual openness had surprised her. It had been good talking to him; not just for her, but for Josh too, she hoped. Over time, the occasional text became the regular phone call - minutes stretching into hours - their talks going some way toward filling the void his sisters’ absence had left behind. Maybe Chris resented her for it, though he'd never said as much. Maybe. But she'd needed it, too. Together, she and Josh had slowly tried to get to grips with the fact that they were gone.

Sam sighed; the sound lost in the winter air as the wind picked up.

Not a day went by when she didn't think about them. Sometimes she wondered if such a day would ever come.

Then, all too suddenly, came the abrupt radio silence that left her stranded with her grief alone. He'd gone - unanswered calls and messages until, just as suddenly, she received the email.

And so they'd returned; boots crunching in the snow as they climbed the hill to the lodge. Back among the memories. Maybe this was the closure Josh needed. Maybe it was what they all needed.

“Perhaps you could talk to him later?” she offered gently.

“Yeah… yeah, maybe.”

Batting it away. Always dismissive. Always so stubbornly stoic when it came to this. Part of her wanted to shake him for being so distant. But she didn't know. Not really. She'd only seen pieces of a much bigger picture; one known to Chris and Josh alone. 

“What does Ash think?”

Chris offered a knowing smile in return, a slight warning in his eyes, and so she shrugged it off. “Okay…”

It was no secret that in their time apart, the blonde had found comfort in his old crush. Her name was dropped into conversation more often these days: ‘me and Ash’ this and ‘Ash said’ that. It had come as a surprise, but if that was what Chris wanted, who was she to judge?

“...You think it would help? Talking to him, I mean?”

There it was again - that uncertainty she thought had passed, long gone since the days of umming and ahhing over a different brunette altogether.

“Can’t hurt.”

“Cool… cool.”

His tone was light and breezy, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Perhaps he knew it. Regardless, Sam let it slide.

With the dark lines of the lodge up ahead and familiar voices carrying on the wind, they pressed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: messofcurls-creative


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris attempts to process his feelings in the wake of seeing Josh again after their time apart.

“Bye-bye frozen lock.”

“Bingo.” Josh smiled, his eyes lighting up when Chris finally caught on. He looked around before his gaze finally settled on the blonde. “Alright, so you got this. I’m gonna go sort something out – you up for hunting around in the dark for a little bit?”

Chris glanced over his shoulder. With a smarting arm and only cobwebs and shadows for company, the idea wasn't all that appealing.

“Nope. But I’ll do it.”

“Godspeed, pil’grim.”

And just like that, Josh was gone, leaving Chris alone in the dark to look up at the night sky beyond the open window. Chris exhaled, long and slow, as he finally let himself relax.

_That wasn't so bad, right?_

He’d thought he was prepared, but seeing Josh again put an end to that assumption. With butterflies in his stomach, he'd approached the group gathered outside the lodge; unable to tear his eyes from Josh, who was already involved in conversation. Finally, Josh turned, the moment marked by an expectant silence as their friends looked on with morbid curiosity. But no drama followed; just that slight, crooked smile Chris knew so well.

He idly stroked the flint with his thumb.

So, they'd talked. Not _talk_ talked, but it was something - an improvement on the seemingly endless weeks without contact. And it had been… good? It was difficult to say for sure, now that he was actually thinking about it. It was surreal how normal it all seemed on the surface; natural and strange all at once; their back and forths so familiar it almost hurt. But maybe that was the problem. They'd talked about nothing real, nothing of substance. Small talk, almost.

Had Josh known how nervous he was? How carefully he'd chosen his words this time? 

Chris turned from the window, his eyes gradually adjusting to the dark as he scanned the nearby shelves and traced the dusty wood with his fingertips, lost to distracting thoughts.

_“Hey.. you doing alright? I mean I know it must be really tough without your sis-”_

_“Stop.”_

_“I just meant that-”_

_“No I know what you meant. You know, seriously, I’m over it, and I just want us to have a good time, you know? Like we always used to.”_

No, Josh hadn't allowed them anything more than small talk this time. Chris hadn't meant to pry. The question was born of genuine concern, but maybe he'd been too hasty. He cursed inwardly, annoyed by his mistake. Was it really that surprising that Josh clammed up and shot him down? Josh didn't want coddling; he'd made that abundantly clear when he--

_“I'm not your charity case anymore.”_

Chris brushed the memory aside, the wound still too fresh to dwell on. He'd spent enough time thinking about how things had ended. More than enough.

A weak smile replaced the frown troubling his brow when he spotted two bikes propped up against the shelves to his left, their metal frames glinting as they caught the light of the small flame. The snow was too deep to use them, but maybe he'd mention his discovery, if only to remind Josh of those times on sunnier days when…

A soft sigh escaped him, lost in the dark.

Maybe not.

His gaze wandered to the objects stacked in piles and boxes on the shelves. Old tools, newspapers, leisure equipment - unused for God knows how long. He rummaged through a box on one of the lower shelves and found snowshoes designed for feet smaller than his own. They were useless to anyone now, but they hadn’t been thrown out. The Washingtons were sentimental like that - always had been. Another sad smile graced his lips.

How many footprints had their younger selves made up there in the snow?

He returned the box to its place among the clutter.

How had everything changed so much?

_Time, genius._

Nobody needed to lecture Chris about what a difference time could make. A lot had happened that year. A lot had nearly happened, too. There were a lot of memories. A lot of ghosts.

Brown eyes peered down at him in memory; troubled and conflicted; lust dulled by quiet sympathy. He remembered hot breath on his skin, a body warm and aching against his own, and yet--

_“You don't want this.”_

Not a question, but an insight made by an unlikely source.

_“I don’t wanna be something you regret.”_

He shook away the guilty feeling and took a few steps, stopping when the toe of his boot caught something solid. Holding out the lighter, Chris squinted at the object then stooped to pick it up. Turning it over in his hand, he couldn’t quite quell the strange sense of foreboding blossoming in his gut. Unlike the Washingtons’ other belongings, he didn’t recognise the carved wooden totem.

_“Ashley was looking pretty hot today, right?”_

He replayed the Ashley thing again in his mind. It wasn’t entirely unfounded that Josh knew he’d been spending time with her, not that it was Josh’s business anymore. People gossiped. 

He'd let it go and tried not to take the bait. But what had Josh even meant by it? Was it a jealousy thing? Was it a joke he wasn’t quite in on? Chris didn’t know - the whole conversation had been surreal - but everything was a bit weird this time around. He’d laughed with disbelief while Josh carried on, going through the same old pep talk he'd heard a dozen times before.

What did it mean? What did any of it mean? 

_“Well, yeah, but we’re like, friends--”_

But then, so were they; back before they’d become so much more than that.

It didn't feel quite right. Any of it. Why didn't it feel right anymore?

_What did you expect?_

Josh had always been complicated - saying shit that took a special dictionary to decipher. But Chris thought he knew him well enough to read between the lines and work out what the heck he meant. It had been a quiet source of pride that he alone possessed that specialist knowledge when it came to his former friend. But now Josh was a closed book once more.

That month away had taken its toll. Chris had seen it in Josh’s eyes when he returned from his convalescence. He was better, but dulled; something lacking in his gaze. Chris had seen it, but hadn’t fully acknowledged it. He’d been too focused on picking up where they left off, he saw that now. Maybe the Ashley weirdness was Josh’s way of dealing with it all.

_Always Josh’s way._

He bit back the pang of resentment. It was pointless getting frustrated. Returning the totem to the floor, he got to his feet. 

It would be okay. Josh seemed to be making an effort of sorts. Perhaps they were rusty, it had been a while. They had the whole weekend ahead of them to talk, Josh's mood permitting. It wouldn’t happen overnight; it was unrealistic to think everything could be patched up so easily. No shared bed in the master bedroom this trip, but maybe… maybe they could start talking again? Like old times?

Old times. The thought forced a huff of bitter amusement from him. It had been a matter of months and here he was looking back on it like it had been years. 

It would take time. But maybe after a few drinks once the others had gone to bed they could sit and talk some more. It didn’t have to be serious, he just wanted the chance to talk to Josh again about anything. Anything at all. Stupid shit. _Anything_. He couldn’t deny that he secretly hoped for more than that, especially in the wake of actually seeing him, but what were the chances of that?

_“Lead the way, Cochise.”_

He smiled; a small, hopeful upturn of his mouth, unseen in the dark.

The chances were slim, but…

It would be okay. It had to be.

Holding the lighter aloft, Chris left to explore the lodge alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh prepares for his big moment in the spotlight.

Chris hit the floor with a thump, bringing an abrupt end to the frantic banging of moments before. But Josh made no effort to help him. Silence opened up, restoring calm and order. Raised voices died in the dark.

He could finally hear himself think again.

Josh looked down at him - an unmoving crumpled heap on the kitchen floor - and shook away the pain flaring in his hand until it slowly subsided, fading to a dull ache. A moment passed while he let his pulse even out. Sitting on his haunches, he gently turned Chris’ head.

_Out like a light._

Chris had barged in before Josh could get the gas out, but it was okay. He’d improvised and it had worked. A punch; quick and maybe harder than intended, but he had to be sure. It was scrappy, but effective enough. Different method, same desired results. And fuck if it hadn’t felt just a little bit good.

Gloved fingers traced Chris’ cheekbone. It was too early to tell for sure, but it had the makings of a bruise. Josh let his hand linger there a moment longer, lost to the familiarity of the gesture, till he remembered himself. He placed Chris’ glasses back in place with a practiced movement.

Chris was a big boy. He’d get over it. Give it time and it would heal, unlike--

_Stop._

He couldn’t think about it, not while he still had work to do and a schedule to keep. Brushing the thought aside, Josh got to his feet, his attention returning to the other fallen body.

_Ashley, Ashley, Ashley…_

“She laughed, you know.”

He looked up at the sudden, unexpected voice. Hannah stood in the doorway, still beautiful in her prom dress, watching him with mild interest. Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she gave him an expectant look.

“...She did?”

He might’ve said it aloud, he didn’t know. Nevertheless, Hannah nodded.

“Yeah. Just like the others.”

A fresh wave of anger washed over him as he clenched his jaw. He didn’t know what to say. But it didn’t matter. She’d already lost interest, throwing him a bitter smile as she left the room.

His instinct was to call after her, to tell her to wait. In days gone by he might have, consumed by the desperate need to keep her close. For her to not leave him _all alone_ again. But he didn’t. He was calm this time. Dressed as he was, playing his new role, his anxiety dissipated. He was focused. Ready. When he wasn’t Josh he could think straight.

He clenched his fist then flexed his fingers, leather gloves creaking with the movement. Hidden by painted metal, he smiled.

When he wasn’t Josh, he was _better._

He didn’t need to call after her anymore. She’d be there waiting for him. He just knew it.

Bending down, he grabbed Ashley’s wrists and pulled her along the floor behind him like a ragdoll. Leaving the room, he caught a glimpse of the blood-splattered wall through the darkness and chuckled to himself; the sound loud and close inside the mask.

It was all working out. He may not have seen the players of his game for a long time, but he knew them. Maybe even better than they knew themselves. Well enough to predict their reactions, anyway. Hell, they could have been reading from a script they were so predictable. Ashley had always had the fear in her. It clung to her edges if you just looked hard enough.

_“Light as a feather, stiff as a board.”_

He remembered a sleepover from their youth. No boys allowed, nuh-uh, but he’d heard them through the bedroom wall - hysterical squealing and tears as his sisters consoled her.

_“I wanna stop. I don’t like that spooky stuff.”_

And Chris? The blonde had never believed in anything he couldn’t see. They’d picked at their fair share of plotholes and laughed their way through enough horror movies to…

Josh swallowed and blinked away the memory. It didn’t matter how he knew. All that mattered was that he’d been right and everything was going to plan. It was going well.

His smile returned.

_Really_ fucking well.

Opening the outer door, Josh barely felt the cold. He hadn’t felt much of anything for a while, everything kept simmering below the surface. No cold, nor warmth. Nothing. It was easier that way.

_Sam upstairs. Mike and Jess “busy.”_

Smirking, he hoisted Ashley over his shoulder. It wouldn’t do to get her clothes wet before her big moment. She hung off him; limp and obedient; a manageable weight against his chest and back. 

_Matt and Em gone. Good. And Chris…_

Another bout of muted laughter - an unhealthy, guttural sound that rumbled behind the mask.

_Chris is sucker punched the fuck out on the floor._

And Ashley?

He patted her legs as he walked through the snow.

_Got your girl right here, buddy._

Everyone was accounted for. Everyone was in the right place, exactly where they should be. Everyone--

The laughter died in his throat and he ground to a halt, eyes widening. He swallowed, no longer confident as his mind went blank.

_Where am_ I?

He looked around the gray landscape. The shapes of his surroundings were lost in the night, his vision restricted by the mask. Looking down at himself, he didn’t recognising the overalls or boots, none of it. Where the fuck _was_ he? Why was he… what?

Fear rose in his chest, cold and sharp, as confusion gripped him. He struggled to remember.

“Over here.”

The girl’s voice carried on the wind. He knew that voice, unheard for many years.

Beth looked at him through the darkness, face hidden in shadow. Though he couldn’t see her clearly, Josh could tell she was smiling. It was a sibling thing, he just knew it. He could _feel_ it.

A figure emerged from the undergrowth - another young girl. They were both dressed for winter, wrapped up against the cold. No fancy prom dresses this time, both far too young for that. Josh watched Beth take Hannah’s mitten-clad hand in her own. They walked on ahead with determined steps till Hannah paused and turned to peer over her shoulder at him.

“Josh, come _on_.”

They looked so small against the snow.

He took a deep breath and felt the calm settle over him like a blanket, keeping the bad thoughts at bay. They were still with him, his little sisters, just like they’d promised.

Resolve renewed, Josh followed them, leaving lone footprints in the snow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris faces an impossible decision.

_Wake up._

The night air hit him like a slap to the face, but Chris couldn’t focus, still dazed. Ashley stumbled beside him, body trembling as their boots stained the snow. Red drops fell in their wake, shaken loose with each step. He held her against him, guiding her away, but it became difficult to tell who was supporting who anymore.

He'd woken first to darkness, then to the dull, persistent throbbing of his head. Then, when he began to remember, to fear; thoughts of sinister notes and screams through the closed doors returning to him as he’d gingerly gotten to his feet. 

The trail of blood led outside to footprints in the snow. The indentations were shallow, already partially covered by fresh snowfall, but it was all he had to go on besides the blood-stained wallet clutched to his chest. Flashlight in hand, every step had been a danger. Only the thought of his friends and the memory of Ashley's cries for help had kept him from turning back.

When the voice greeted him over the tannoy, he wished he had.

The options were laid out, clear as day, though there was no real choice at all. So matter-of-fact. So simple and to the point, but there was nothing simple about it. Terror filled him up from head to toe - cold and thick and all too real - as his heart kicked hard against his ribcage. His words tumbled out, stuttering between trembling lips as he tried to reason with the stranger, all the while struggling to make sense of what was happening and why. But nobody replied. Looking down at the lever held in his grip, knuckles white with tension, he'd never felt more alone.

And then it started; abrupt and devastating, cutting through his friends’ frantic pleas. He saw their faces from afar, marred by confusion and fear as the blade spun to life and made its intentions known, its teeth a vicious blur. But he couldn't choose. How could anyone make that decision? How could he when all his thoughts were drowned out by that dreadful din, the rusty metal rendering him hopelessly inert?

_You’ve gotta wake up._

But it didn’t matter. When time ran out, the decision was made for him.

The saw trundled along the track with dark purpose, slowly at first, but far too quick in his memory. He wasn't aware of his widening eyes, his fear reaching new heights as the blade picked its own path and veered to the right. He didn't remember clinging to the cage that separated them, gripping it so tightly that the wire mesh cut into his palms. He barely remembered anything about that awful moment of realisation beyond the fresh and vivid terror in Josh's eyes.

And then?

_Oh God, please wake up..._

That sound. That terrible, terrible sound he'd never unhear no matter how long he lived. The whirr of the saw as it met flesh. The wet slap of blood painting the walls - so much it seemed endless. And above it all was Josh, till jagged teeth cut his cries short, pleading till the very end.

He didn't believe what he'd seen. Couldn’t. It had to be a bad dream or a scene from a God awful B movie - all latex and special effects. He would wake up and see that it was all in his mind, that it was all a lie. It _had_ to be a lie.

_W-wake… wake up..._

When Josh failed to lift his drooping head, Chris realised how wrong he was.

He didn't notice how tightly he'd been holding the fence till the door opened and forced him into action. On stranger's legs, he went to Ashley and helped her down. Shielding her eyes, he'd looked over at the mess left in the wake of indecision and cruel metal. The mess that had only moments before been a living, breathing person. Not just any person. Josh. _His_ Josh.

He was gone.

Suppressing the nausea rising up inside him, Chris led her outside, away from the tang of fresh blood and the lifeless eyes that would never return his gaze. The mouth that would never speak or smile again. There was no chance to talk it out anymore. No chance of anything.

“Whose blood is that, Ash?”

The wind bit Chris’ cheeks; his skin as cold and numb as the stupor that had settled over his frazzled mind; the same thought circling his thoughts like a mantra.

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…_

Emily’s features were marked by horrified incomprehension. But Chris couldn’t find the answers. There were none to give. What had he missed? He should have done something. Surely he must’ve been able to - one little action making all the difference. But he hadn’t. Everything was wrong. Somehow, the world had ended and he was the last to know.

_I’m so fucking sorry._

“Chris?”

Then it came - the worthless apologies and pitiful self-blame - everything pouring out of him in a fragmented torrent of words as the floodgates opened and tears stung his eyes.

Ashley was beside him; blood-splattered and hysterical, but still alive. When it all became too much, she buried her face in Chris’ chest, her slender frame wracked with sobs. Salt water reduced the world to vague shapes. His vision blurred then cleared as he blinked away the tears and quickly wiped his cheek on his sleeve. 

“I-It’s okay, Ash… It’s-- I’ve got you.”

He closed his eyes, arms tightening around her while he let her cry enough for the both of them. She was still alive, that’s what mattered. She was alive and, as long as he had breath in his body, it would stay that way. He wouldn’t fail her.

He couldn’t fail again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh learns the hard way that he shouldn't underestimate his friends.

Josh fastened the button at the mannequin’s hip then smoothed down the plaid material with bare palms. Satisfied, he pulled on his gloves and stepped back a pace to admire his handiwork.

_Perfect!_

That certainly seemed to be the case at first glance. Dressed in her clothes, there was no mistaking who had inspired the effigy. But something still wasn’t quite right. Scrutinising the hanging figure a moment longer, the problem soon became apparent. Clothes first, accessories later; that was the plan. Only, there weren’t any accessories.

She had a bracelet; light blue like the summer sky. She’d worn it for as long as Josh could remember and sometimes played with it while she spoke; an unconscious habit. Its curved edge tapped against her desk in class. 

Had he made that up?

No. No, he remembered it; he hadn't just imagined it. So where the fuck _was_ it? Had he dropped it? Maybe… maybe she’d lost it? Had she even been wearing it this time?

Why couldn’t he remember?

Josh cursed and scanned the floor around him, only stopping when another possibility occurred to him.

_Maybe she’s still wearing it?_

He calmed. It was easier to be calm beneath the lodge; the place that had become his home in weeks gone by. Down there, _he_ was in control; the first place he’d truly felt in control of anything for a long time.

Leaving the dummy dangling from the hook, Josh stepped over broken tiles and concrete, returning to his muse. She was still asleep, sitting silently in the chair. He stood in the doorway and watched her from afar. 

There _she is._

Out of everyone, Sam was the only person he had been unsure of. True, she’d run when Chris had given chase - fear getting the better of her - but she was strong. Capable. Feisty. A baseball bat to the face had already proved that much. There was always the risk that she’d see through his deception, or at least fight back. But, once the gas had taken effect, she'd been more than compliant enough for his purposes. The perfect star.

_A real firecracker._

A wry smile blossomed behind the mask.

_But you saw another side to her, didn’t you?_

Those talks they’d had. Despite her strong front, she’d let her guard down. Opened up. Shared her grief with him. She’d shown him just how weak she really was underneath it all.

_Weak?_

Maybe that was unfair.

_None of it’s fair. At all._

Dark green eyes regarded her silently behind the mask. After a long moment, Josh crossed the room and stood before her. Careful fingers adjusted her towel, further covering bare thighs and affording the blonde a little more modesty. Before, he might have hesitated; falling victim to her unintentional effect on him, but there was none of that left in him anymore. Watching her bathe… he hadn’t even felt lust. Nothing, really. He’d traced her wet body with his gaze, but behind the mask, he felt nothing. It was refreshing; not being clouded by such base thoughts and feelings. Standing there for the longest time, he’d almost willed her to see him, if only to prove how little influence she had over him anymore.

Josh took Sam’s hand in his own and held it up for closer inspection. Her wrist was bare.

_No bracelet._

He sighed; the sound transformed into a low growl by the voice modulator. He supposed it didn’t really matter. It was a shame, but there was nothing he could do about it.

_Oh well._

His gaze followed the line of her arm, trailing up to her face. Eyes closed, chest slowly rising and falling beneath the towel, she looked peaceful. Vulnerable.

Gloved fingers curled around her palm.

He remembered her standing beside him, dressed in black. Her voice was calm and laced with a sorrow Josh felt but couldn’t express. She’d said such beautiful words; each one chosen with care and spoken from the heart as she addressed their fellow mourners. She’d held his hand when all he could manage was pitiful silence.

Later, in the dark months that followed, she’d been there; just a phone call away. He’d deleted her texts one by one; read and discarded them till nothing remained. But he still remembered what she’d said.

She’d been so nice to him. So kind...

...But she wasn’t there when _they_ needed her. For him, maybe. But not for them.

Josh swallowed down the surge of resentment and released her hand, letting it drop to her side.

“Is the night going how you hoped it would?”

Josh closed his eyes, clenching his jaw as an unwelcome voice interrupted his train of thought.

_Not now..._

“It’s going fine.” Josh mumbled in his altered voice. With some reluctance, he finally lifted his gaze.

Hill was standing behind Sam, resting his hands on the back of the chair. The look the doctor gave him suggested that he didn't quite believe Josh's dismissive reply. “Are they all getting what they deserve?”

Another exasperated sigh, muffled by metal.

Josh lifted the mask, freeing himself from the modulator’s effect. Seeking distraction, he turned away irritably to adjust the camera on the tripod. “What do you want?” 

“I could ask you the same question. After all, I’m here because of you.”

On some level, Josh knew that was true, but it didn't lessen the irritation Hill’s presence stirred up inside him. It was a new development; his appearances gradually increasing in frequency over the last week or so. Though Josh tried not to dwell on it, he had briefly pondered the reason for Hill’s arrival. Perhaps it was a way of telling himself that he needed to talk, or maybe that he needed hel--

_Talking doesn't help._

No. No more talking it out. Not anymore.

“This is getting out of hand.”

“I told you, it’s _fine_. I’m handling it.”

“You consider this ‘handling it’?” Hill asked, clearly amused as he watched Sam’s head loll forward onto her chest.

Josh glared at Hill then propped Sam’s head back against the chair. Why was he meddling? Always meddling. So many fucking questions. And yet, that authoritative voice still managed to get under his skin and hold his attention.

But it didn’t have to.

Josh glanced at the canister propped up against the wall.

Yes, he knew a way to shut him up - to shut _everyone_ up - leaving nothing but that blissful silence. Without a word, Josh picked up the canister and threw Hill a look as the implicit threat manifested as a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?” Hill asked, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Why not?” Josh asked, idly tracing the mouthpiece with his fingertips while he toyed with the idea.

“Stop.”

It wasn’t Hill who spoke this time; stilling Josh's hand with a stern command. Josh scanned the room until he finally saw her stepping out of the shadows. Standing arms akimbo, Beth made a disgruntled sound of exasperation. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The doctor gave Josh a knowing look. _That_ was why not.

“You have work to do, and here you are mooning over Sam like a creepy little boy? It’s fucking pathetic.” Beth spat, scowling.

Josh winced, feeling every sharpened word. He wanted to protest. He didn't feel like that about Sam anymore; how could she not know that by now? This was all for _them._

But he didn't say a word. Thoroughly chided, Josh sheepishly met Beth’s gaze. Her clothes were torn; jeans ripped at the knees; dirt smudging her face. There was a faint blue tinge to her lips, more apparent in the light. She had blood on her shirt. Why did she have blood on her shirt?

_Because she’s dea--_

“Just shut UP! Okay? I ca-- I can’t think straight with you yap-yap-yapping at me all the fucking time. Just STOP!”

To his relief, they fell quiet. He closed his eyes, running leather-clad fingers over his face while he tried to concentrate. “Let me just… let me just think.”

_Matt and Em gone. Mike and Jess “busy.” Sam with me. Chris and Ashley…_

“They’ll be here soon.” Beth muttered, finishing his thought. “You need to hurry up.”

“Or stop?” Hill suggested. 

But stopping wasn’t an option anymore. Josh checked the canister. There was still enough gas left to finish what he’d started. Good.

“No?” Hill pressed. When Josh failed to reply, the doctor smirked. “I didn't think so.”

Uneasy anticipation bubbled beneath the surface, turning over in his stomach. Josh took a deep breath then lowered the mask and felt the calm return. Regaining his composure bit by bit, he slowly spun the chair until Sam faced the wall. Canister in hand, he slipped quietly from the room.

From his place in the shadows, he heard footfalls and voices nearby. They were quiet at first, but nowhere near quiet enough. He shook his head to himself and resisted the urge to laugh.

 _Fuck, they are so fucking_ bad _at this…_

It was okay this time, but they were lucky he wasn’t planning on doing anything more than scaring the shit out of them because mother of _fuck_ were they lacking in self-awareness; wandering around, flashlight in hand, like they’d stumbled straight out of an episode of Scooby-fucking-Doo.

Finally, the pair passed him by, entering the room Josh had left behind. A moment later, he heard them make their discovery, right on cue.

Hidden from view, Josh smiled.

“Sam!! Chris, is she dead? Holy shit, holy shit-”

“Shit… She’s not - she’s not dead.” Even from afar, there was no mistaking the relief in Chris’ voice.

Josh took a deep breath. Swallowed.

_Nice and quiet. Calm and steady. You can do this._

“How do you know?” Ashley pressed.

“She’s still breathing.”

“What the hell is wrong?”

Quiet footsteps brought Josh closer to the doorway, unheard by the pair. Their voices grew louder as Josh entered the room, keeping to the shadows.

“I think she’s been knocked out.”

“Ohh.”

He was behind Chris, only a step away. So very, very close.

_Ready?_

“Oh no no no no no. This is bad, this is bad! We’ve got to get her out of here!” Ashley muttered anxiously as she worried over the sleeping blonde.

_Now._

Josh clutched Chris to his chest and forced the plastic mask over his mouth. Caught off guard, Chris’ shoulders jolted with shock, but the movement came too late for him to struggle much. Josh felt Chris go limp in his arms as he quickly succumbed to the gas.

_One down._

He let Chris fall to the floor, but it didn’t go unheard. Ashley turned at the sound, eyes widening in terror as she stumbled backwards.

“CHRIS!”

The panic was back; loud and crystal clear in her eyes. So brilliantly bright.

Slowly, Josh advanced.

“OH SHIT!! AHHH NO! GET BACK!”

There it was - the fear. It twisted her face into something so beautifully raw. So genuine. So _real_.

He took another step toward her.

“Stay the hell away from me!”

Her hand moved too quickly; the unexpected action lost in Josh’s peripheral vision. He might not have seen it, but he felt it; the eye-watering, all too real pain singing its agonising melody along his every nerve. He doubled over under its weight, rendered momentarily weak by the shock of unforeseen violence. “Oh, no nono.”

Instinctively, Josh yanked the scissors free from his flesh, letting them clatter to the floor.

_Bitch! F-fucking, ugggh!_

This wasn’t part of it. It wasn’t in the script. She wasn’t supposed to do _that_. But it was fixable. Everything was fixable, you just had to improvise.

With some effort, Josh straightened up and faced her once more. The fear was still there in her eyes, right where he’d left it.

He could still fix this.

“Live and learn.”

“What?”

Anger - white hot and refreshingly pure - flared up inside him; as real and tangible as the pain in his chest. Powered by fresh adrenaline, it found form in a clenched fist that struck Ashley’s face with a satisfying, determined smack; escaping him in one concentrated burst.

“Live… and learn.”

Ashley lay unconscious in a heap at his feet. His pulse was still racing, beating loudly in his ears. Gradually, he managed a weak smile of relief. She wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

Hill walked over to join him and stared down at the fallen girl. “ _Well_. I didn’t think she had it in her.” 

For once they were in agreement. Josh had underestimated her. She’d been scared - he knew she would be - but he’d thought she was powerless. A coward.

How had he been so wrong?

_Doesn’t matter. D-doesn’t matter. It’s done now. It's--_

“You’re bleeding.” Beth observed, matter-of-factly.

Josh looked down and pressed his palm to his chest. Fresh blood bloomed across his shirt between gloved fingers. “Fuck…”

As the effects of adrenaline slowly faded, it began to hurt. _Really_ fucking hurt. But there was no time for the luxury of self-pity. Instead, Josh gingerly rolled his shoulder, gritting his teeth as he pushed through the pain. It was no big deal in the grand scheme of things; a small price to pay when the end was so very nearly in sight.

“It’s fine, I-I-- It’s okay.” He murmured, not entirely certain who he was reassuring anymore. Still clutching his chest, Josh looked down at the unconscious bodies and gave a resigned sigh.

He was so tired of dragging and carrying; of making sure everyone hit their marks. He was tired of connecting the cogs and gears; moving all the pieces that made the big machine work. But it would all be over soon. He had been planning while they had been at play; growing and spreading like the roots of a tree unseen beneath their feet. They had underestimated him and were oblivious to their mistake. And they would realise it all too late, every last one of them.

“It’s okay.” Josh repeated. His voice was steadier than before.

They were in the homestretch, nearly ready for the big reveal. Everything was coming together and soon they’d all know exactly how it felt. It was his gift to them.

Hill pulled back his sleeve and glanced at his watch. “Tick tock, Joshua.”

Pain flared in Josh’s chest as he hooked his hands under Chris’ arms, but it went ignored. With a grunt, Josh dragged him from the room, Chris’ heels scraping along the floor.

_Places, everyone._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh's big reveal doesn't quite go to plan.

Sam had mentioned it weeks and weeks ago, but he'd chosen to brush it off in favour of a little self-preservation for once.

_“I know you don’t want to talk about him, but I’m worried.”_

_“I told you, what he does is his business, not mine.”_

_“I know. It’s just… he’s been acting sort of… different lately. His messages seem--”_

_“Hey. Josh’s problems are his problems, okay?”_

Only, that wasn’t true, was it?

It never was.

From the moment Chris closed his eyes - his entire being braced to never see or feel anything ever again - right up until the mask slipped back to reveal a dead man's face, his heart hammered in his chest; drumming along with the quick rhythm of fear. It was only now with Mike and Sam beside him that it began to slow, just a touch, but their presence did nothing to quell the sick feeling turning over in his gut, caused by an overwhelming flurry of conflicting emotions.

He barely noticed Mike freeing him from the wrist restraint, nor the hot sting of the scorch mark along his jaw. The smell of smoke from the spent blanks lingered in the air, but that, too, went ignored.

All he could see was Josh. Real. Right there. Alive and moving and talking and breathing. Like a dream.

Like a ghost.

_I didn’t think I’d ever see you again._

Chris rubbed his wrist, but his gaze never wavered from the scene unfolding before him. The ringing in his ears hadn’t quite subsided, but he still heard everything Josh said; the brunette’s voice cutting through it.

“Well he’s definitely off his meds…” Chris muttered with a resigned sigh; no power behind the simple observation. Though confusion reigned, that much was horribly clear.

“You’re done.” Mike’s voice was laced with anger.

“Mike, he’s sick.”

The protest was weak at best, made on instinct. But Josh seemed not to hear it.

“What? Come on, you guys are all gonna thank me when you guys become internet sensations!”

Chris blinked as Josh’s words sank in. “...Wait, what...?”

Suddenly, it clicked. The video camera in the basement, blinking in the dark. The camera on the tripod beside them now. That had been his... his plan? All of the fear edited into a neat little clip show?

“Oh you better believe this little puppy is going viral, ladies and germs.” Josh was smiling, but it was hard and tight. Forced and malicious. “I mean, we got unrequited love. We got… we got blood! I don’t think there’s enough hard drives in China to count all the hits we’re gonna get, you guys.”

Josh's eyes widened with gleeful enthusiasm. The same kind he displayed when he was running his latest idea by Chris; talking his ear off about a project or assignment. Only, there was something sickening about it this time. Chris couldn’t even stand up as Josh prattled on; that air of something manic in Josh's eyes holding him in place and making him weak.

_This is all just a… sick joke?_

Anger reared its ugly head. There was no denying its presence among the emotions riding high in his blood. But, despite everything, one feeling weighed Chris down above all others - heavier and louder and far more painful than the rest - rendering him mute in the face of Josh's words.

Guilt.

How long had Josh been planning this? It hadn't happened overnight. Chris had seen the sudden change that could turn his former lover into a scared little boy - a horrible, twisted version of his best friend that nearly brought Chris to tears if he thought about it for too long. The one who wallowed in self-hatred and tore himself to pieces at a moment's notice. The changeable creature full of self-destructive demons. But not this. This had taken time.

There was just so… _so much thought_ involved. The evidence of Josh's work was there for all to see - the light bulbs, the gore, the fake newspapers, the props, the costumes, the set up… so much work. So much effort. So much time.

How long had Josh been falling apart right under his nose?

And so the guilt remained, begging the question again and again.

_How the fuck did I not know?_

Mike's anger was palpable; a dark presence that loomed over them all and cut through Chris' thoughts. “What are you talking about, you ass hat? Jessica is FUCKING DEAD.”

At this, Josh’s face changed; no longer quite so confident. Chris saw him falter, bringing an end to his diatribe. “What?”

But Mike didn’t seem to notice; too consumed by righteous anger to pay attention to anything else. “Did you hear me?! Jessica is dead.” He left Chris' side, approaching Josh at a pace. “And YOU ARE GONNA FUCKING PAY YOU DICK!!!!!”

Chris flinched as the gun whipped Josh across the face; the brunette falling to the floor in the wake of Mike’s frustration. He’d sensed it coming as Mike closed the gap; knew what the other man had in mind as his grip tightened on the gun. It was like watching a car crash unfold. But Chris didn’t do a thing to stop it. Not a thing. He just watched and let it happen. Had maybe even felt a little relief.

Sam broke the silence that followed. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Mike...”

Standing over Josh, Mike turned to face them. There was no regret there, no apology; just an unpleasant defiance that hardened his features. “What?” He spat, daring anyone to challenge him.

But no challenge came.

Finally, Chris found his voice. “...What now?”

“He can't stay here.” Mike said. It was clear he'd already made up his mind.

“But--”

“He’s a _murderer_.”

The word smothered further protest. Mike had to be wrong - it was too surreal. Josh couldn't be a… Chris had defended Josh for so many years, was always so quick to make excuses, so infinitely patient when it came to his friend. But what if he was wrong this time? Josh couldn't have _killed_ her... could he? Josh's slips were self-directed - always had been.

Chris winced. His jaw stung badly. He inhaled, immediately regretting it; the scent of burnt flesh strong in his nostrils.

_Until now._

“...You don’t know that.” Chris replied uncertainly.

The fact that there was any doubt at all proved just how much things had changed.

Mike threw up his hands with exasperation. “Look at you. Look at Ashley, for fuck’s sake.” He raised his mutilated hand, wrapped up in bandages; stained a tired red by old blood. “My fucking hand?” He shook his head to himself. “ _Christ!_ ”

Chris wanted to object, but instead he glanced away, unable to face the damage Josh had done any longer.

“Saws and bear traps? I mean, what the fuck?” Mike continued, gesturing to the room around them. “Look where we are, Chris. This is... He's fucking _dangerous_.”

Dangerous was a word Chris had never associated with Josh. Josh was funny. He was smart and thoughtful. Loving and generous. Sad, at times.

_Cruel. Selfish. Distant..._

More recently, perhaps. But never dangerous… right?

It didn't make sense. He didn't _want_ it to make sense. 

Mike took a moment to calm himself before he spoke again. “Look… I know you don't want to believe it, but…” He sighed. “Open your eyes. For once, just open your fucking eyes.”

Chris looked across the table, where Ashley met his gaze. There was relief there, looking back at him, but it was hard to find comfort in it when it was mixed up with the remnants of a fear that refused to fade. Red blotches marred her skin above ruddy, tearstained cheeks and ruined mascara. A darkening bruise blossomed around one of her eyes, swollen skin shutting it for her.

The gun sat silently on the table; cold and inert. A weapon that was no real weapon at all, as it turned out. But it had still wounded him, and not just physically. Blanks or not, his burnt skin proved how dangerous such a gamble had been, and he hadn't been the one to make it. Josh had made that decision; playing with their safety for his own amusement.

The saw blades loomed overhead; unmoving for now. But what if...

...One false move and it could have been real. They'd escaped this time with minor scrapes, but he could have hurt her. More than he already had.

_Why?_

“We’ve got to get him somewhere he can’t do any more damage.” Mike pressed.

Chris looked at Mike, watching as the brunette balled his injured hand into a weak fist.

The facts were laid out, clear as day. As real and as tangible as the devastation Josh’s actions had wrought upon them. But somehow, despite it all, Chris still couldn't fully believe it. He looked to Sam, hoping for an answer, but all he found was more doubt. She looked as uncertain and conflicted as he felt. It was like looking in a mirror.

_Why?_

He remembered a knife, tossed away in the snow. He remembered torn jeans and ripped pages. He remembered scared eyes glaring back at him in the amber glow of evening.

Sam busied herself with tending to Ashley. Though she’d suffered no visible injuries, it seemed that even she hadn't emerged unscathed. The trust was gone, or at least damaged enough to avert her gaze and let doubt seep in; an invisible scar marring her unshakable resolve that Josh was a victim, not a culprit.

A small swell of anger forced Chris to look away bitterly.

Whether Josh meant to hurt them or not, he had. More than he knew.

_I thought you were dead..._

He remembered the punch to the face that still made his cheek throb and ache. He could still hear the echoes of a confession he'd made, meant for someone else; said to provide some comfort. He remembered the cold press of the gun barrel against his skin while Ashley tried to talk him down.

And it was all a lie. All of it. A big, humiliating lie.

_I thought I was going to die._

Josh had made him believe it all, just like he'd wanted; breaking his heart all over again.

_You... made me_ want _to die._

The admission scared him. More than the threat of torn limbs, bullet wounds or sharpened blades. More than anything. With Josh gone, the decision to point the gun at Ashley and save himself had never been an option. There was only one way it could have played out. The knowledge that Josh had that much power over him was terrifying.

_Did you know what I’d do?_

His gaze trailed over to Josh, sprawled out unconscious on the floor with Mike standing beside him.

Mike looked back at him expectantly. “A little help?”

_You fucking asshole._

Chris clenched his jaw and let the feeling simmer below his skin. He glanced down at his bruised wrist; eyes tracing the scorch marks and flecks of residue on his hand. Lifting his gaze with a weary sigh, he nodded. “...Okay.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris finally gets the chance to speak to Josh again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song rec:  
> Buttons - Sia

With Josh unconscious, Chris could finally think again.

Unable to bring himself to help tie Josh’s wrists - still too dazed and conflicted to be useful in that respect - Chris slowly rounded the table to the girls, not trusting the strength in his legs enough to rush. Both Sam and Ashley looked worse for wear; tired and drained in the wake of what had been a very long night. But they were both safe. So wonderfully real and alive and _safe._

Pulling Sam into a long overdue hug, much welcome relief replaced the fear he’d felt when he’d seen her passed out not long ago.

“You okay?”

She leaned back, holding Chris at arm’s length. With a tight smile, she nodded. “I’m fine.”

Her gaze flickered to the burn marring his cheek, the very same question on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t ask, already knowing his reply. Despite what he'd say, he wasn't fine. None of this was fine.

She released Chris from her grip and stepped aside to dust herself down, making room for Ashley, who hesitantly filled the gap Sam had left behind. With her face buried in his chest, Chris held her close, but his arms felt weak. Numb.

“Oh God, Chris. I thought we-- that _you_ were…” she mumbled against his shirt, trailing off with a weak sniff.

Finally, she peered up at him. Her face was still damp and smudged with ruined make up, leaving a mess of black on Chris' shirt, but the tears weren't just from fear anymore. There was relief there, too.

She was looking up at him like he’d done something heroic. Something noble. But he didn’t feel like a hero. He felt like an idiot. A fraud.

Standing there, he couldn't find the right words to say. They were both finally free from their ordeal, but it didn't matter. The damage had been done.

Mike grunted with exertion as he rolled Josh onto his side. The sound caught their attention, prompting Ashley to speak again.

“I-I didn’t know it was him,” she began in a troubled whisper. “I didn't know it when I-- I thought he was a psycho and I didn’t _know_ \--”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. We’re okay now.” He smiled down at her, brushing away fresh tears, but it felt half-hearted. He frowned sadly, fingers stilling when she winced at his touch. “Your eye--”

“He…” Ashley glanced past him to Mike and Josh, and Chris didn’t miss the lingering fear that made her look away.

For a moment, Chris couldn’t understand, or rather, he didn’t want to understand. But it was difficult not to connect the dots.

“Josh… hit you?”

She nodded silently.

The bruise was already turning an ugly shade of purple; made all the more dramatic by the thin sheen of tears still clinging to Ashley's skin.

Josh had… Josh had actually done that?

He was stunned into silence by a sudden flare of anger, but he bit it back, for her sake. She’d dealt with enough heightened emotions to last a lifetime.

“It's okay,” he repeated, at a loss, “we’ll get some ice on it and…” He forced a smile for her benefit.

But the gesture seemed to work. Reassured, Ashley nodded again, smiling weakly.

“Hey.”

Chris turned his head toward the sound of Mike’s voice. Despite his injured hand, he’d managed to secure Josh’s wrists behind his back.

“Let’s go.”

~*~

Somehow, Chris still wanted to defend Josh. When Josh had woken, groggy and dazed, he’d felt the sympathy returning, bit by bit, even knowing exactly what he'd done. It was easier when the barrage of delusional words wasn't hitting him full force, smashing over him like a wave. But the respite was fleeting. Now that Josh was talking again, it was hard not to let his anger take the wheel.

It was that very same anger that saw Josh stumbling away in the wake of a punch that left Chris’ knuckles aching; his entire body trembling beneath his many layers with that simmering outrage and something far more delicate.

Josh righted himself, able to take the blow, seemingly unfazed. “What are you talking about?”

“You punched Ashley, you piece of shit!”

The fact that Josh had hit him was one thing. Chris could take that. Just. But Ashley? How could Josh not see how wrong that was? And he still couldn't even _admit_ it.

Josh groaned against his restraints as he slowly got to his feet, knees damp with snow. Finally upright, he glared at Chris defiantly. “I got so _mad_.”

“You don’t hit a girl. You just _don’t_.”

_Calm down. Fuck, you've gotta…_

But that was easier said than done when every dismissive word and look scratched his insides raw.

“...Dude… Dude, Chris… Bro… I--”

“I’m not your bro.”

Mike had been a quiet presence at Chris’ side, ushering Josh forward with relentless determination. When Josh fell silent, Mike moved him on with a shove. For a moment, only their footfalls and the whistling of the wind through the trees could be heard in the night air, but the quiet was short-lived.

“Where are we going? Where are you guys taking me?”

“Locking you up, _bro_.”

Chris didn't miss the hint of satisfaction in Mike's voice as he gave Josh another unsympathetic shove.

“What?!”

“So you can’t do anything stupid before we call the police in the morning.” Mike continued, simply.

“Come ON! I didn’t DO ANYTHING--”

Chris was dumbstruck. After all he'd put them through, ‘prank’ or not, how could Josh still be in so much denial? Had he really slipped that far?

“Are you serious, bro?” he asked incredulously.

“You’re a goddamned murderer is what you are.” Mike muttered.

“I didn’t do it. Michael! Please! Just listen to me, man! I did not hurt Jessica--”

_Stop making this worse. Please stop._

Though Mike had been calm enough till now - his initial anger kept on a tight leash once Josh was restrained - Chris knew there was no guarantee it would stay that way.

“You know what, man? You need to shut up.” Chris warned.

Unable to meet Chris’ eye, Josh spoke again. “Chris, hey, come on, Cochise, we’re partners…”

Tugging at his heart. Playing him like a fucking fiddle. It was all so transparent. Words that were once affectionate were made false by circumstance and rang hollow. It took some effort, but Chris batted the entreaty away.

“Stop! Don’t say that.”

He saw the change on Josh's face, his mood souring in a heartbeat. It was clear it wasn't the reaction Josh had hoped for. “Oh, fine. Be a dick!”

And there it was: the manipulation exposed. 

Chris felt sick.

Had he always been so blind to it? Had everything always been so false?

The doubt was the worst part, made all the more terrible by just how unexpected it was. For years, he'd thought he was walking on solid ground when it came to Josh, but now he was uncertain, like he was standing on a frozen lake.

Had it always been that way and he just hadn't realised?

With another shove, Mike pushed Josh towards the shed. Chris hung back a few paces, letting Mike take the lead. 

“You only see what you wanna see! You’re blind!”

“Stop talking!” Mike snapped.

Chris winced as Mike forced Josh to the ground. He could sense Mike's frustration gradually returning to the surface. Where his anger was hesitant and reluctant, Mike's was out there for all to see; unburdened by the trappings of guilt or lingering affection.

“You are - argh -” Discomfort cut Josh's words short.

“Dude...”

The exclamation was involuntary, said before Chris could stop it. Despite everything Josh had done, it felt like they were going a step too far. Mike was being too rough. But Chris didn't stop him.

Why wasn't he stopping him?

Face down in the snow, wrists bound, Josh refused to shut up; defiant despite his weakened position. “It’s not my fault you suckers can’t take a joke.”

The gun remained in Mike’s possession: held in his grip or tucked beneath the waistband of his jeans, unused since striking Josh unconscious. But now it was out again, the dormant threat awakened by irritation. Kneeling on Josh’s back, Mike aimed it squarely at their prisoner’s head while he gave Josh a taste of his own brand of cruelty.

“Oh, oh wait, did I hurt you?” Mike asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did you just feel a little… little bit of pain?” He dug his knee harder into Josh’s back, forcing him farther into the snowy ground. “Right now I am SO.. SO.. SORRY.”

Chris couldn't see Josh's face, but he sure as hell heard the pained sounds he made struggling in Mike's grip.

Josh's protest cut through the air. “Stop it…” 

Chris wanted to look away, but he couldn't. The dull metal in Mike's hand wouldn't let him.

He'd gotten a black eye or two over the years defending his friend whenever he heard one of those ugly rumours, not that he'd ever told Josh; blaming such injuries on his own clumsiness. Yet, watching this, allowing this to happen… how could it feel so much worse than those times he'd got his ass kicked?

They were going too far. No matter what Josh had done, surely this was going too far.

Then why wasn’t he _stopping_ it?

“Jesus, dude…”

Chris' protest went ignored as Mike put a little more weight on the knee digging into Josh's spine.

“Stop…Michael… I’m sorry… Man.” Josh pleaded weakly.

Somewhat satisfied, Mike pulled him up onto his knees, much to Chris' relief.

Josh's laboured breath steamed the air. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that something happened to Jessica but I swear, I _swear_ to you I have no idea what happened to her…”

The doubt returned, tying a knot of uncertainty in Chris' stomach. Josh actually sounded sincere. He watched Josh peer over his shoulder at Mike, and was taken aback by the strangely genuine look Josh wore.

But was it more manipulation? Another lie?

“Josh? Be honest with me.” 

_For once, just be honest with me..._

“Do you really expect us to trust you for a single goddamned second after all the shit you put us through?”

With a resigned sigh, Josh's demeanour changed. His shoulders sagged when he realised his words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can’t we all just get along?” Josh offered, weakly.

No. There was no room for honesty anymore. That much was painfully clear.

With no apology forthcoming, Mike pulled Josh to his feet again, more roughly than he needed to, leaving a blood-flecked imprint behind in the disturbed snow.

“OW! DAMMIT!”

“We’re not dicking around.” Mike snarled.

“It’s not right… nope…” Josh shook his head, mumbling to himself. “This is not how it’s supposed to go down…”

But Mike was past listening. He pushed on, Josh fighting him with every reluctant step. Twisting on the spot, Josh slipped from his grip and turned to face them.

“You’re just a bunch of bullies… You can’t hang out a guy just to dry like this, guys-- Not like…” He took a step closer and swallowed, features hardening as he squared up to Mike with renewed defiance. “Not like you got the guts to really do anything about it anyways!”

Josh could be fickle at times, Chris knew that. But this was another level of unpredictability that left him reeling; Josh tearing at them with his ever-changing moods. He was ups and downs, ups and downs, and Chris couldn’t tell when the next was coming.

Mike took the challenge as well as could be expected and pushed Josh over, frustration besting him. The threat of further violence lingered in the air.

“You really, really, really need to shut up, man.” Chris urged.

“Oh…” The word was little more than a sigh. “Oh that’s… that’s…”

Josh hung his head, and for a moment it seemed like he’d finally exhausted himself. But relentless confrontation was replaced by something far more frustrating. He sounded drunk, his words slurring together like he’d had one too many. The claim was ludicrous, yet his tone was unnervingly sincere. “I mean, I don’t even know what you mean because I don’t have anything to regret.”

The saddest part was that Josh seemed to believe what he was saying. 

And so, Chris was faced with two horrible possibilities. Either Josh knew what he was doing and meant everything he said, or he was out of his mind and didn't have a clue.

The Josh he knew would never put his friends in danger. He'd never knowingly hurt anyone. _His_ Josh was fiercely loyal and kind and...

But he was looking at Josh through rose-tinted glasses, remembering what _had_ been, once upon a time. Josh had also been the one to push him away, had readily cast him aside with so little explanation that Chris hadn't been able to figure out why. Till now.

Josh had changed. Whether consciously or not, that much was certain.

 _I don’t know you. I don’t know you at_ all.

He couldn't win.

Chris had to look away. It was all too much. Way, _way_ too much. “Oh my god...”

Another tug on his restraints jerked Josh to his feet, and Mike marched him towards the stool, Josh struggling against him every step of the way. After a few failed attempts, he finally managed to sit Josh down while Chris watched from afar; torn between the compulsion to leave and, beyond all reason, to stay.

“Okay… tying me up now… okay…”

“Stay still, man--” Mike snapped.

“Right right right right… still…”

Hands full, Mike threw Chris an expectant look. Coming out his daze, Chris walked numbly to the post; unable to meet Josh's eye as he took the rope Mike offered him with snow-bitten fingers.

How had it come to _this_?

He remembered Mike's insistence, back beneath the lodge.

_“Come on, man. Tying him up?”_

_“You think this maniac is going to come with us if we ask nicely? Sit quietly till morning?”_

Watching Josh struggle, it was difficult to deny that Mike had been right.

He hated that Mike was right.

But it didn't matter. Josh didn’t need his fists to hurt him. That was becoming horribly clear. 

He looped the rope gripped tightly in his hands.

This was for the best. It _had_ to be for the best. If he told himself enough times, maybe he'd start believing it.

“Can’t tie em up if they just wiggle around--”

“Josh, dude--”

But Josh didn’t listen, squirming against the post. “Leave me a little wiggle room, huh?”

“What does it take to shut you up?” Mike asked, exasperated.

“Ow! Not so tight, okay? Not so tight, okay!” Staring up at the ceiling, Josh's voice softened to a mumble. “I can’t wiggle around. Plastic ties. That’s where it’s at. Yeah...” 

Finally convinced that Josh's bindings were secure, Mike and Chris stepped away.

“What… in god’s name is he talking about?”

Josh was looking off into space while he rambled on; talking to himself, to people unseen, to them, maybe? “Plastic ties, plastic ties. Way more effective for hostage type scenarios...”

Chris swallowed. “This is hard to watch…”

It was an understatement. Seeing Josh so untethered filled Chris with all the bad feelings he'd thought were gone for good. Suddenly, he was alone again, back in that rotting shack, watching his friend unravelling before his eyes; a frightened boy with no idea how to make things right.

“He ever say this kind of shit before?” Mike asked.

Chris had seen Josh wide-eyed and manic. He’d seen him scared and delirious with grief. But nothing like this. This was a new kind of awful - all the bad magnified and amplified into a vision that was painful to behold; all the hatred turned outwards for once. Sweat clung to Josh's brow above hazy, darting eyes while he laughed to himself: a horrible, unnatural, almost goofy sound. It was as if Chris was looking at an imposter wearing his friend's skin. It made his stomach turn.

Josh was still talking to himself, oblivious to their scrutiny. “Guaranteed for three hostages or your money back!”

How was it possible to want to hold someone close and push them away at the same time?

Chris couldn’t look at him anymore. Seeing Josh like that, half out of his mind… It had never been this bad.

“No, I never seen him like this…”

“Everybody is stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid…” Josh whispered to himself, lips twitching into a tentative smile. Eventually, he raised his head. “Chris and Ash…”

_Don't rise to it._

“Chris is an ass. Ashley’s a dumb dumb…”

Usually Chris' fuse was long, his patience seemingly endless, but the night's events had cut it short and left it frayed. Perhaps he could have avoided the anger, bitten it down and at least tried to silence it. But he wasn’t alone in this. With Mike beside him, Chris' anger was glowing embers and Josh knew exactly how to stoke them.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Well I said you’re a dummy, dummy.” Josh spat.

Chris closed his eyes and fought the urge to cry out with frustration. But it was all so childish and petty, so very tiring, that finally he gave in and said those words he promised himself he’d never say to Josh, no matter what, no matter how bad it got. Not ever.

“What’s _wrong_ with you?”

But Josh ignored the question. Instead, his expression became one of exaggerated longing, his voice softening in sickly sweet imitation. “Ohh… Ashley… I never imagined in my wildest dreams that you liked me…!”

Chris looked away, jaw clenched, as if he’d suffered a physical blow.

_Why are you doing this?_

“Stop.” Chris managed, his voice small and defeated.

But Josh didn’t stop. Instead, he made exaggerated kissing noises, closing his eyes as he leaned back suggestively against the wooden post, trailing off with a low, throaty moan that trembled in the air. 

“You know what that sound is? It’s the sound of you never kissing Ashley, you pussy.”

In the past, Josh had always been the one to support and encourage him. Josh was his wingman. His source of confidence. His _friend_. But now he was picking at the scabs of old insecurities; turning everything on its head and voicing all the fears that had rendered Chris useless in that regard for so long.

“Stop!”

The length of wood was in Chris’ hand before he knew it, held tightly enough to cause splinters, but he didn't feel it. He didn't care. Josh had touched a nerve.

Noticing the implied threat, Josh's eyes lit up, lips curling into a wicked smile, devoid of fear.

_This isn’t fair. Don’t do this..._

“Yeah, you know? You might as well let Ashley sleep with Mike.” Josh’s smile widened, cruel and sharp like a blade. “I mean, at least he’s got some notches on his belt, you know? He’ll _treat her right_!” he jeered, punctuating each word with a vulgar thrust of his hips before slouching back against the pole, daring Chris to act.

All the poison, self-doubt and sharp words were there, being used against him like weapons. They were splinters under the skin and hard slaps across the face. Punches to the gut delivered with expert precision. All the threads were being pulled and the wounds prized open, leaving Chris feeling so fucking small and vulnerable. And the most devastating part was he didn't even know why Josh was doing it.

_He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it..._

Maybe Josh didn’t mean it, but that did little to stop Chris from wanting to smash that smug look right off his fucking face.

And Josh knew it. Chris saw the bright satisfaction in the brunette's eyes right before his expression changed to one of utter disdain as he hammered home the final nail in the coffin. “You’re fucking _pathetic_ , Christopher.”

Chris snapped so suddenly that he barely had time to think. Makeshift weapon raised, he couldn’t stop himself. “I’m gonna beat his head off--”

But he didn’t get the chance. An arm barred his path, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t listen to him. Not worth it.”

Lowering the wood, Chris turned away and took a deep breath, but his expression soured when Mike caught his eye and threw him a look. That fucking I-told-you-so look that Chris did _not_ need to see right then.

Bit by bit, he regained his composure, but it was becoming harder to rein in his wayward emotions anymore. He was usually so restrained; able to control his reactions in the face of anything. And now _Mike_ of all people was talking him down? How had _that_ happened? He was supposed to be the rational one; coming along to make sure nothing bad happened when Mike was left to his own devices.

Defeated, Chris closed his eyes.

_When did you become so fucking cruel?_

What had he done to deserve this? Had he really done something terrible enough to warrant such treatment? Was it jealousy? Something he wasn't even aware he'd done? He felt like he was in the right, like he was the victim...

...but deep down, he already knew the answer. The break up had made him selfish and dismissive; his own hurt feelings rendering him ignorant to Josh’s decline.

He'd failed Josh when he'd needed him most. And now he was paying for it.

“Hey Mike.”

Mike ignored it, but Josh was undeterred. 

“Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike.” Josh continued like a petulant child.

His captors exchanged silent, weary glances.

“Mike!”

“What?” Mike snapped.

“What happened with Jess, Mike?” Josh asked innocently.

_Shut up, J. Just shut the fuck UP._

Chris braced himself for more yelling, perhaps another violent outburst or tirade. But, to his surprise, Mike was calm. Or was he merely worn down?

“You know what happened.”

“No… No… I don’t...” Josh trailed off, giving the matter further consideration. “I got a problem, Mike… I don’t remember killing Jess…”

Mike turned away. “Christ…”

“I mean, like, I feel like I would remember killing her, you know?” Josh continued. His face softened, wistfully. “She’s so soft…”

Chris could sense it coming. More bad shit. More wounding words.

“And she’s probably got like a really tight bod…” Josh leaned forward with a lecherous grin. 

And there it was: the trigger Mike needed. The last straw.

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

Panic widened Chris' eyes and set his heart racing as Mike levelled the gun at Josh's head. But Josh seemed unafraid, staring right back at Mike with a goading smile.

_Fuck fuck fuck! DO SOMETHING!_

Instinct was a funny thing. It took Chris over, that urge to protect Josh still very much alive.

The gun clattered to the floor.

It took Mike a moment to register what had happened. Holding his bandaged hand to his chest, smarting from the smack of wood, he bent down and quickly retrieved the gun before turning to Chris with disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Wh-what?”

“Did you think I was going to shoot him?”

“I-I dunno,” he replied uncertainly. 

Chris couldn’t think. It was becoming harder to know what was right and wrong anymore. Josh was pushing their buttons; exploiting their weaknesses; turning them against each other so expertly. It was exhausting, taking its toll on them both.

“Come on, Chris, you know me better than that.”

Josh watched them through a low rumble of laughter, giving them a knowing look. He slowly licked his lips, taking his time with it. “Yeah, Chris. _You know me better than that_.”

A flush of rare embarrassment coloured Mike's cheeks as he turned away under the guise of shrugging it off. But Chris didn’t miss the other man’s discomfort. The guilt was there as past exploits were dredged up and used to shame him; the reminder intended to put them on the back foot.

And it was working.

“Ah… yeah. Well, just, next time give me a heads up, alright?”

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Mike nodded silently.

“Oh, you poor little piggies. Can’t even get their good cop bad cop routine to work. Leave it to the pros, bros.”

Inner conflict bubbled beneath the surface - all the thoughts and feelings vying for his attention - but Chris didn't know what to do, or even what to feel anymore; weighed down by just how fucking tired he was. He was lost at sea and hadn't a clue how to get back to shore.

_Stop. Just… stop._

He felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to find Mike beside him.

“Why don’t you go back to the lodge and make sure everyone’s alright. I’ll stay here with this lunatic until morning.”

“Ooooh! Sleepover! ...C-can we order pizza?” Josh asked, but the request went ignored.

With the gun back in Mike's possession, Chris felt like he should stay, not quite trusting Mike to keep a level head. “You sure you’re okay...?”

Mike nodded. “They’ll want to know everything’s fine back there.”

_Fine?_

Chris wanted to laugh at how ridiculous that notion was. Back in the lodge, he'd felt hope, hidden there beneath the hurt. In those weeks alone, all he'd wanted was a chance to speak to Josh again. But now he'd give anything to leave if it meant he didn't have to hear another spiteful word.

Reluctance held him in place, but with Josh's words ringing in his ears, it soon passed. Right then he was done; with Josh, with this, with… with everything. He needed distance. Perhaps tomorrow he could cope with it all, but not then. Tomorrow they could deal with it, and when they took Josh home they could get him the help he so desperately needed.

He sighed, sadly.

It was a nice thought, but it didn't seem like Josh could be helped anymore. Half out of his mind and filled to the brim with venom, Josh was broken. And, for the first time, Chris didn't know how to fix him.

He looked at Josh and found himself locking eyes with a stranger.

_...Where did you go?_

The boy Chris grew up with and the man that boy became - the one who could disarm him with a smile and made his heart skip a beat - was a memory. Josh was in his blood; tangled roots within his heart that grew beneath his skin. But the man who met his gaze… that wasn’t Josh. The person he knew - who he loved - wasn't there anymore.

Josh had come back from the dead, but he was gone. Maybe for good this time.

“You’re right…” Pushing down the heartache, Chris nodded softly, feeling weak. “See you in the morning.”

And with that, Chris dropped the wood to the floor and walked away. Away from sharp words and hurt feelings. Away from Josh. Away from the worst moment of his life.

He didn't turn back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike hears a few home truths.

“Mike...”

“What?”

Mike could sense it coming - those two little words - and braced himself.

“...Where’s Chris?”

For a while, Josh had been too preoccupied with his own jumbled thoughts to grate on Mike's nerves too much; mumbling to himself before finally falling quiet. But then came the questions - or rather, the same question - asked again and again until Mike wanted to pull his hair out.

“For the millionth time, he’s gone.”

Josh nodded to himself, but if recent experience was anything to go by, Mike doubted Josh had actually registered what he'd said. Regardless, it seemed to placate Josh enough for him to slip back into thoughtful silence once more.

Perched on a stack of old crates, Mike leaned back against the wall, taking advantage of an increasingly rare moment of respite. A soft sigh closed his eyes as pain flared along his forearm. He'd been able to ignore it for a while out of necessity. But in the quiet moments devoid of distraction, he felt it again: nettles twisting beneath the skin, stinging and stabbing across his palm up to his elbow, pulsing tightly beneath grimy bandages. Grimacing, he massaged the flesh of his wrist, but it did little to ease the pain.

_“Don't stare, Michael. It's rude to stare.”_

Back when he was a kid - before he was old enough to stay home alone - he'd been forced to visit relatives; those boring trips made somewhat interesting by the presence of his uncle and the morbid fascination his prosthetic limb inspired. The family was so proud of him for serving his country; injured in the line of duty. He even had a medal displayed on the mantelpiece that he wore on special occasions.

But Mike and his sisters hadn't seen it that way. Back then, it hadn't made sense. Why would anyone risk their life like that? Wrapped up in their sleeping bags in the den after lights out, they'd snickered in the dark.

What had they called him?

A bitter smile played on Mike's lips.

_Like you don't remember._

Uncle Hopalong: the butt of their jokes on those long weekends back before they knew any better; when childish ignorance had made them needlessly cruel.

_“Did you see when he took off his fake foot? Soooo gross!”_

Nudges at the dinner table. Shared glances in the lounge, unseen by talking adults. Whispered words when their parents were out of earshot.

...Would people look at _him_ that way?

Mike winced as he tried flexing his hand before giving up, the movement only serving to provoke fresh hurt.

It had seemed so stupid back then: risking your life for something like that. But now he knew better. Some things were worth the risk.

He suppressed another sigh.

Hindsight was a bitch.

Whatever happened, it was done. There was no getting around it. His fingers were gone.

“Mike.”

_Thanks to this squirrely fuck._

Mike didn’t reply, but the upward glance was enough to prompt Josh to continue.

“Where are the girls?”

“Safe away from you, asshole,” Mike replied breezily.

“...Jess…?”

Mike's voice darkened. “Like you don't fucking know.”

He considered pressing Josh for some long overdue answers, but with Josh staring back at him - a perfect picture of clueless incomprehension - it seemed pointless. Killer or not, Josh was messed up enough to render any answer he gave unreliable at best.

“Mike, Mike… Come on. Don’t be that way. We had some good times, right? Real _friendly--_ ”

“I swear, the only thing keeping me from shooting you six ways is I don't have enough bullets for the job, you hear me?”

That and the promise that he’d see Josh rotting in jail at the end of all this. Of course, knowing the Washingtons’ wealth, it would probably end up being a cushy affair; more like a holiday resort than hard time. Hell, they probably had a whole team of lawyers on retainer to deal with stuff they wanted swept under the rug.

Eyes narrowing, he swallowed down the bitter feeling twisting in his throat.

It wasn't fair. Jess was out there - lost beneath the earth or God knows where - and here he was keeping watch over the son of a bitch who'd put her there.

“Mike.”

“What?” Mike snapped, voice sharp, making no attempt to disguise his irritation this time.

Josh looked sickly pale in the lamplight. Sweat clung to his brow as he glanced down at his chest. “I'm bleeding.”

Mike held up his maimed hand, unimpressed. Any sympathy he might have felt was long gone; left back in the morgue with his missing fingers. “Right back atcha.”

At this, Josh huffed grim amusement. “Hah… Chicks dig scars.”

_This is still a big fucking joke to you?_

He bit back the urge to stroll over there and put his anger to good use; knocking Josh out, if only to shut him up for a while. But he couldn't. Everything that happened would be scrutinised under a microscope, just like the last time, and he'd be damned if Josh was getting out of this because of a momentary slip on his part.

_Just a few more hours. Just a few more then--_

“Hey.” Josh regarded Mike curiously, gaze lingering on his bandaged hand. “How did you do it?”

_“Christ...”_ Mike swallowed, forcing down the urge to snap again. He was learning the hard way that ignoring Josh wasn’t an option. Chris had turned down the idea to gag the loopy fucker, but with the blond elsewhere, the notion was becoming more appealing by the second.

“You already know,” he answered as calmly as he could.

“No… no, I don’t. F’I did why would... Why would I ask?”

“In one of your traps, genius.”

“Wasn’t me,” Josh replied airily, trailing off to a drowsy sigh as his head lolled to one side.

Mike shook his head to himself with bitter disbelief. Josh's denial was frustrating, but hardly surprising. Not for the first time, he wished himself elsewhere. But he'd had to be the one to stay, he knew that. Chris was a soft touch; far too sentimental when it came to Josh. Left alone, who knew what the blond would let Josh get away with.

“Michael…”

Why the hell did Chris still care about this prick?

“...Did you like the book?”

Mike blinked, the new line of questioning taking him by surprise. “What?”

“In the cabin. Ka-ma-su-tra,” Josh said, taking his time over each syllable. “Not that you need it, huh?” He looked at Mike from under his lashes, a wry smile playing on his lips. “I bet you know aaaall the moves, right?”

“Josh, I swear--”

“No traps for you. Nuh-uh. No traps. No being the hero.” He leaned back and offered up a weak, knowing smile. “You woulda liked that though, huh?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I didn’t… No traps. Just cameras. Lots and lots of little cameras,” Josh replied, looking up at the ceiling wistfully.

“Cameras?”

Josh nodded slowly. “Uh-huh. All over. All the angles.” He grinned, eyes half-lidded. “All the good ones.”

Mike shifted uncomfortably, falling quiet while he tried to make sense of what Josh was alluding to. He thought he might know, but--

_“You’re hot… but you already know that, right?”_

Josh had been a background presence; another set of eyes in that small dorm room; distant at times but always there. At the head of the bed, a silent observer, watching from afar. Peering down at him as fingers brushed lightly through his hair and scraped across his scalp. Staring back at him with barely a breath between them. 

_“You like that?”_

Bit by bit, Mike reluctantly put the pieces together. Josh couldn’t mean...

“You… A sex tape?”

Dark green eyes lit up and met Mike’s own.

“Bingo!” Josh smiled, chewing on his lip.

“What the _fuck_?!”

“Oh. Oh, _no_ … Not for me, no… no… For _you_ ,” Josh said encouragingly, like it was perfectly obvious. “And the internet,” he conceded as an afterthought.

Of all the things Mike imagined the other man capable of, this didn't make the list. But then, why not? Why would blackmail - if that was Josh's intention - be beyond someone who'd pulled all the crazy shit Josh had?

“Wait,” Mike began cautiously, frown deepening. “You didn’t know I was seeing anyone.”

“Well, you were gonna sleep with _someone_ , right?” Josh shrugged. “Jess, Em, Chris… me, maybe?” he laughed bitterly, “I don’t... I don’t know. But it was going to happen. You wanna know why?” He leaned forward, straining against his bindings with a conspiratorial smile, like he was sharing a secret. “Because that’s _all you do_.”

Usually he could find the right things to say, but for once, Mike was too taken aback to reply. Gaining confidence from Mike’s hesitation, Josh took the opportunity to pounce on the other man’s silence.

“Yeah… You’d love to be the hero, but that’s not you. No, no, no. No, my friend. Not you.” Josh straightened up, shifting his weight on the stool. “Now, _Chris_ … Chris is-- Chris can...”

It seemed to pain Josh to talk about the absent blond. He shook his head, wincing before regaining a degree of composure.

“...But not you. You _think_ you are, but…” Josh trailed off, head lolling forward as he laughed into his chest.

When his mirth became little more than a breathy sigh, Josh lifted his head. “You wanna know the best part? Everyone falls for it.” His eyes and smile widened in one sickening movement. “ _Everyone_. Even _you!_ ”

“Stop talking,” Mike murmured, his words laced with an unspoken threat.

But Josh was on a roll. He had Mike’s attention and the son of a bitch knew it.

“They think you’re, like, this... This great guy with all this good shit going for him, but you haven’t got a clue.”

“Stop talking _now_.”

“Or maybe you _do_ know, I dunno. But, Han-- My…”

Josh glanced around, as if checking that they were alone. His words softened with a strangely sad sincerity.

“...my sister… she liked you. She really liked you. She didn’t see you like you are.” His voice gained some strength, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “But _I_ do. _I_ see you. I see you _real_ good.”

For the first time in a long while, something solid and substantial strengthened Josh’s gaze. He didn’t look quite so delirious; the moment of hardened clarity cutting through the fog of his ramblings with an unexpected force. His voice was light and breezy when he spoke again, but there was a sharpness to the dark green eyes staring right into Mike’s own.

“You’re a fuck. A cheap. Easy. Fuck.” Josh leaned back against the post and shrugged, closing his eyes. “That’s all you are. And I… I guess I wanted everyone to finally see that.”

“Shut up.”

“Take that away and what _are_ you?” Josh continued, muttering the question through laughter.

“Shut UP!”

Mike was on his feet, gun held at his side, but _Christ_ he wanted to aim it right between that fucker’s eyes because that smile was growing wider with every passing second. Josh was thriving on his anger, that much was clear. He forced himself to rein it in.

_They’re just words._

Then why were they getting to him so damn much?

Josh opened his eyes, but he didn’t look scared or intimidated. The haze had returned, accompanied by a lopsided smile when he noticed the gun. “You gonna shoot me, Mikey?”

Mike swallowed and turned away irritably. “Fuck off.”

With a triumphant smile, Josh sank back against the post, but it was a fleeting victory. When the silence opened up, he began muttering to himself again, Mike's presence forgotten. “Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter… No tape but it’s okay…”

But even in the absence of accusations and character dissection, Mike couldn't cast Josh's words aside so easily this time. They turned his thoughts inward, picking at the things he left ignored and unaddressed.

He knew his reputation, but it had never really seemed like a bad thing. Maybe if he was a girl it would've been different, but in his privileged position, he had bragging rights, not shame or excuses.

_Doesn't always feel like that though, huh?_

He hadn't thought about the way others saw him in that regard for a while; not since Chris had gotten in touch again. Even then, laying it out self-deprecatingly on the table, Mike had still somehow managed to skirt around it.

Chris looked back at him in memory; sad and almost pitying.

_“Hey, I knew what this was.”_

He managed to brush it aside, but another thought took its place. One that tied an uncomfortable knot in his gut.

...was Josh... right?

With a scowl, Mike sat down on the crates once more. He didn't have time for this. There were more important things to deal with.

So why was he letting this lunatic get inside his head?

“Mike…”

The unwelcome voice shook loose the troubling thoughts, but Mike didn't answer with words, just a glare.

Josh seemed not to notice. Instead, he glanced around, confused. “Where’s Chris?”

Mike ran a weary hand across his face. “He’s not here. Fuck my life, he’s _gone_.”

“Gone?”

“Yup,” Mike replied shortly.

_Lucky bastard._

“Oh…”

The minutes ticked on; Josh's muttering voice becoming little more than an intermittent background burble while Mike sat there silently simmering with the remnants of agitation, made dull by tiredness. 

He didn't know how long they'd been there, but it must have been a while, right? It sure as hell seemed like it. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked out at the world beyond the shack.

It was still dark. No sun on the horizon yet.

His gaze returned to Josh. The older man was wearing a forlorn frown while he looked down at his feet, as if they might hold the answer to his questions.

No… it wouldn't be long. Just a few more hours and it would be morning. Just a few more hours and Josh would get what was coming to him. All he had to do was wait it out a little while longer.

An unpleasant smile twitched at the corners of Mike's mouth.

_You'll get yours._

Rolling stiff shoulders, Mike let himself close his eyes, but the moment of rest was short-lived. A scream cut through the air beyond the rotting wooden walls, carried on the wind. Mike's eyes widened. The sound was horribly familiar. He knew that voice.

“Oh crap, what now...?”

He quickly got to his feet while Josh looked on, awakened from his nonsensical monologue by fresh drama.

“Where are you going? What was that?”

The innocent act was convincing, Mike had to give Josh credit for that, but it wasn't quite good enough. Whatever sick scenario Josh had set up for Emily had obviously been triggered and he'd be damned if he was going to let another of his friends get hurt or worse.

Mike gave the gun a cursory once over, Josh's questions falling on deaf ears. “If anything’s happened to her, I will _end_ you.”

“Mike, come on, bro. Come oooon. You can't leave. You can't leave me here like this, man.” Josh strained against his bindings, voice hardening as he jerked forward roughly, to no avail. “You can't _leave_ me here!”

Doing little to hide his satisfaction at Josh's discomfort, Mike gave his captive a final fleeting glance. Despite his determination, Josh wasn't breaking free anytime soon. The ropes would hold.

“Don't go anywhere,” he advised with a smirk, turning away.

“Michael!”

But Mike ignored him. Without a hint of hesitation, he headed out into the snow, gun in hand; carried off by quick footsteps till Josh's distant yells were just a memory, lost in the night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh discovers that some of the bad things aren't just in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song rec:  
> Criminal - Fiona Apple

“MIKE!”

Darting eyes searched the snow-covered outskirts of the shed while Josh’s breath steamed the air. He’d been yelling for a while, but nobody replied. Sheltered from the unfeeling night beyond the wooden walls, all that remained was the distant breeze.

He slumped back against the post, Adam’s apple bobbing along his throat as he swallowed.

“Mike...?” he asked again, voice weaker than before, throat dry.

_He's not coming back, you know. None of them are._

It was his voice this time. No Hill. No Hannah or Beth. Just him.

Silence.

He felt the treacherous sting of tears at the corners of his eyes and willed them away, but his body wouldn’t listen.

Not even the anger could keep his friends there anymore. Spitting out venom, all the wounding words and self-hatred - theirs and his own - Josh had kept them close, but now even that wasn’t enough to stop them leaving.

He was alone now, for real this time.

“...Hannah…?”

His sisters had stood beside him throughout the seemingly endless weeks; haunting his thoughts and watching over him while he worked and sweated and put all the plans in motion. They were the glue that held all the little pieces together, the duct tape that stopped him from falling apart. They were encouraging hands on his shoulders and kind words when it suited them. But not anymore.

_Where are you?_

He hadn’t heard from them for so long that it scared him. They’d been there at the big reveal, looking on with silent approval. But when he awoke, bound and confused, they hadn’t come back to see it through, no matter how much he looked for them.

Absent.

Missing.

Gone.

_Just like before._

A twinge in Josh’s shoulder made him flinch and squirm in his seat. It had been easy enough to ignore it when the adrenaline kept him tick-tick-ticking along. But now his injuries began to make themselves known, bit by bit, one by one - a horrible reminder of the grim reality of things.

The costume felt uncomfortably itchy against his skin and the urge to tear it off nagged at him, unbearably loud like an unsated craving. With a sniff, he tried to flex his arms, but the rope had little give, rendering his hands numb from the wrist down.

 _Where_ ARE _you?_

He wanted his mask. With the mask on he could think. Behind the mask, _he_ was in control. Without it, he was Josh again; lonely and confused and oh so fucking scared.

_You fucked up._

It was his voice again. Just him.

All alone.

“No… no, I-- I planned it. I _planned_ it,” he whispered protest, as if that fact alone was enough to exonerate him. “I planned and I-I-I--”

“That’s right. Your plan. Your ‘game.’”

Relief flooded Josh’s veins when he heard Hill’s voice close by, and he looked around frantically, but he couldn’t see him. Regardless, Josh nodded eagerly, so glad to hear a voice other than his own.

“And how is that working out for you?” Hill pressed.

Wincing, Josh looked down at himself. He was tied up, clothes stained with blood - _his_ blood - and he’d pushed away the few people he could ever hope to call friends. Hill already knew exactly how it was working out.

But… but it _had_ worked. Maybe not this part of it, but the rest?

“Perhaps it worked a little too well, eh?”

Throughout the endless weeks, Josh had never really thought about what it would be like to witness his own death; to see it play out on his friends’ horrified faces. It was kind of like being at his own funeral, in a strange sort of way.

Hanging limp from the wall, Josh had heard Chris usher Ashley away, only lifting his head when he was certain they were gone. The satisfaction of a job well done had brought a sly smile to his face, but it was tight, and it faltered under the weight of the nagging jealousy and strange sadness that tugged at his chest. Looking at their fading footsteps afterwards, side by side in the snow, he’d felt empty. Hollow.

_“Every second that I spent with you was the only thing I ever wanted to do with my time.”_

All heartfelt sentiment; movie gold.

Then why had it hurt so much?

Every syllable had churned up his insides, thick and unpleasant in his gut. Every last word… meant for someone else.

“Just like you planned,” Hill reminded him.

Josh grimaced. He’d planned to make Chris the hero at any cost; to somehow raise him up and knock him down with one conflicted movement. To make all of them pay and see what they’d done. But it was only afterwards that he finally realised the true price of it.

The fruit of his labour, it was all there in the way Chris had looked at him - so much anger in his eyes. But at least he’d looked at him; Josh holding his gaze by any means necessary. Anger, hatred, disgust, whatever it took to keep Chris there, to keep those eyes trained on him. But…

Bitter laughter choked him up as fresh tears began to form, till the sound became a sob that petered off to pathetic sniffling.

No, not even the anger could bring Chris back. Not this time.

“So, what did you want them to see?” Hill asked.

 _How it feels to lose someone. How it feels to have a choice in it - a choice I didn’t have. How it feels to be so close to breaking. How it feels to hurt. To really,_ really _hurt._

He’d peeled apart the skin, pulled it back and given them a glimpse inside; of him, of themselves. Just enough to...

Josh closed his eyes, saltwater clinging to dark lashes as the tears spilled down his cheeks.

_I don’t know anymore._

“Then your plan worked,” Hill said encouragingly.

Josh burst into grim, sardonic laughter, head bowed as he mumbled against his chest. “Doesn’t… doesn’t _feel_ like--”

A sound from above cut his words short and lifted his gaze. His eyes widened, bright with old fear and fresh hope. It was a tapping, like heavy snowfall or… footsteps? Could it be footsteps?

He frowned.

On the _roof_?

Was he hearing things again?

“Chris? _Chris..?_ ”

When nobody replied, Josh let out a huff of self-deprecating laughter that turned into a cough. Of _course_ it wasn’t Chris. Despite his tenuous grip on reality, Josh knew _that_ much for sure. But the hope was there and he clung to it tightly; like a piece of driftwood keeping him afloat.

Another sound. More tapping - irregular and moving - interspersed with the scraping of… _something._

“...Hannah...?” he tried again, voice high and desperate in his throat, and waited with bated breath, mouth hung open in quiet expectation.

Maybe they’d come back for him after all. Maybe they were going to dump him down in the basement or turn him over to the cops. Maybe they wanted another chance to take out their anger on him and make him pay. But Josh didn’t care. They could do whatever they wanted, anything at all. He just didn’t want to be alone anymore. So utterly and painfully alone.

He listened as the sound pattered across the roof - too fast for footsteps - and followed the movements, eyes chasing its path along the ceiling, over his head, skittering away from him.

And then he saw it.

It came from above; not a sound this time, but a shape. A shadow. A face, shrouded in darkness, just a silhouette at first. It peered in at him from the doorway, hanging down from the roof, twitching with quick, darting movements like an inquisitive bird, but the sight was fleeting.

The creature jumped down - unnaturally light and quick - and landed on the snow beyond the shed; crouching low at first before it seemed to unfurl before Josh’s eyes. Long, emaciated limbs - warped and painfully thin - stretched outward as it grew up from the ground, till it was towering above the fallow earth; pale in the moonlight but seeming dark against the snow.

_What the fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck--_

Josh watched the creature cock its head up to the night sky before it shrank down, gaze turning inward. Hunched over on all fours, it glared through the dark with its cold, milky white eyes. But somehow, it hadn’t seen him yet.

Josh’s mouth formed flustered, soundless shapes as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing; cold, black fear rendering him dumb because this wasn't part of it. He hadn't planned this, it wasn't in the plan. It _wasn't_. No, it wasn't--

_You’ve gotta breathe._

He didn’t know what this was, couldn’t understand or rationalise this… _thing_. It looked like a nightmare from a movie, one of his demons brought to life - a new, dark presence conjured up by his troubled mind. But had he really slipped that far this time? It _looked_ real, but it couldn’t be. How could… how...

He was breathing too quickly, but it didn’t feel like enough - the air catching in his throat with every shallow gasp.

“In for four,” Hill reminded him.

Somehow, Josh managed to swallow down a breath.

The creature moved before his eyes, no longer bathed in moonlight but inky black shadows as it entered the shed, and Josh watched in horror, eyes bulging as it skittered along the walls, the ceiling, creeping like a spider upon the beams before moving on with fevered inquisitiveness.

“Hold for four, remember?”

He tried, but the numbers ran together, muddled and confused; just nonsense shapes and sounds in his head that choked him up and made him dizzy. 

_Oh fuckoh fuck--_

“Come on, _breathe_ , Joshua!”

He felt weak and lightheaded, vision blurring at the edges, but he tried to listen.

“Out for eight.”

Eight didn’t mean anything anymore. It was just a word. A sound. A nothing.

“BREATHE.”

It wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it WORKING?

The creature dropped from the ceiling to the floor, long body bent over, just a few feet away. Up close, Josh saw its ash gray skin pulled taut over old, jutting bones; could smell its fetid breath ripe with corruption and the sickening scent of decaying flesh that made him gag.

_Not real, not real, not--_

“Josh!”

It wasn’t Hill this time.

The urgent whisper tore Josh’s attention away from the monster to the doorway beyond, to where Beth stood, clear as day; a bright presence at the centre of the thick vignette tunnelling his vision. He felt a surge of relief, of panic, of hope. And finally, he could breathe again because she’d come back to him. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Their eyes met and she held her finger to her lips, eyes pleading silently, but her warning was in vain.

“Bee?!”

The relieved gasp was answered, not by Beth, but by a terrible, inhuman scream that set Josh’s mind on fire and gripped him with an overwhelming terror, and the creature snapped its head in his direction; those glassy, sunken eyes finally finding him in the dark.

_Not real. You’re not--_

But that didn’t stop the heels of Josh’s boots scuffing frantically against the floor as he tried to back away, only succeeding in forcing himself against the post, ropes tightening around his aching wrists. 

“No, no, no, no, _nono_ …”

He recoiled in horror as the creature closed the gap between them in one quick movement till they were face to face - its tattered lips pulling back to reveal jagged, yellowing teeth as another scream pierced the air, loud enough to leave his ears ringing.

“NononoNON--”

Impossibly long fingers wrapped around Josh’s throat, forcing the air from his lungs, choking him so tightly he felt like he might snap in their grip. And then he was moving, back scraping along the wooden post, splinters digging into his forearms and through dirty clothes as the stool fell away, his feet skimming the floor and kicking at the air until there was nothing beneath his boots; the creature lifting him up as if he weighed nothing.

_Not… real..._

One hard smack against the post was enough to knock the light from his eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris' worst fears are realised.

_“Guys... I ran off and left Josh when I heard screaming.”_

On the heels of Mike's admission, all Chris could think about was getting back to the shed. There was no other answer or option, no other course of action he could take. It wasn't open to debate.

_“You can’t go out there, Chris!”_

_“I’m supposed to be his best friend and I let him down.”_

_“No… he let you down, Chris - he let all of us down.”_

_“I don’t care. I’m going to get him.”_

Despite Ashley's protest, he swept the hurt aside, because it didn't matter right then. Tomorrow, Chris could be angry again; could feel heartbroken and betrayed and sad and all the rest of the emotions simmering beneath his skin. Tomorrow he could hate and love Josh all at once, because all that mattered in that moment was getting back to him.

He'd been so sure of himself, so steadfast and determined, as if that made a difference or meant a fucking thing. He'd headed out with blind resolve, on a mission, focused with his mind made up. But his intentions hadn't mattered, nor the risk he'd taken. None of it mattered or counted.

He'd been too late.

Emily traced the map with her fingertip, peering down at the aged paper. “What's weird is there's a tunnel leading from the lodge to the Sanatorium, see?”

"That's how I got back here,” Mike confirmed with a nod.

Standing to one side while the others pored over a dead man’s belongings, Chris barely heard a word; too lost in his own thoughts to register anything else, the conversation washing over him, unabsorbed. It was all just sound. Just noise and empty syllables, ignored as snatches of the past played over and over in his head, silently tormenting him.

_“You don’t seem to understand the magnitude of the situation.”_

_“Well, I’m going to get Josh, aren’t I?”_

Bathed in the light of the monitors, Chris glanced up at the group before his eyes wandered again, staring off into the shadowy corners of the room.

They'd followed blood tracks through the snow, trodden that same path again back to the shed; the scene of so much turmoil, panic and fear. Back to the place he'd seen Josh die. The place he'd disowned him. Where he'd lost him twice before.

But Josh wasn't there.

All of Chris' fears were realised the moment they entered. The broken stool. The upturned lantern. Severed ropes. And blood. So much blood splashed across the floor, pooling in the dirt; its scent thick and pungent in the air. Horribly, undeniably real this time.

_“Wait… don’t… move…”_

They’d been so vulnerable and exposed, frozen like statues in the snow. Chris had held his breath tightly in his lungs, gun clasped to his chest. But it wasn't good enough.

He was never good enough.

_“RUN! GO! NOW! NOW!”_

And then he was gone. In a heartbeat. One fell swipe with taloned fingers and the life faded from the stranger's eyes, blood welling across his throat, head falling to the floor, body toppling over in the snow. All in a moment that etched itself in vivid clarity upon the fabric of Chris' memories.

 _His head just came off. It came off like it was fucking_ nothing.

Chris screwed his eyes shut as he tried to force the image from his mind, but what followed was little better. He could still hear the frantic banging on the door - both fists aching with the effort, leg ablaze with pain from the tumble he took - and, despite everything that came before, he'd never been so scared. Because this time it was real. There was no faking it. This time he knew for sure.

And then, somehow, there they were: in a bubble hidden away, in the calm eye of the storm. Up above, Chris had feared for his life. He’d run and run and run till his lungs were raw and his pulse roared through him like thunder. Out there lay only danger and fear; the smell of spent shells, the kickback of the gun in his hands and the unforgiving night. He was safer down there; protected by thick walls, safety in numbers. In the quiet, he could hear his thoughts again, could actually _breathe_ again. But, somehow, that was so much worse.

_This is a bad dream. A really fucking bad dream. This is… this can’t..._

“Emily… you can't stay here!”

“Mike, just cool your head okay? We don't know if it works like that. Maybe it's just a bite.”

Despite his distraction, Chris felt Sam's gaze upon him, and the others slowly followed suit. They turned to Chris, searching for an answer, inviting some kind of opinion, but he could do little more than look back at them impassively. It took him a moment to find his voice as he forced down the knot that had lodged itself in his throat.

“...I’ve seen what these fuckers can do. I don’t wanna see it again.”

His voice came out colder than he meant it to, but Chris didn’t care. Or maybe he just couldn't feel the right thing properly, couldn't quite fathom what he was supposed to do or how he should act. There was so much going on, so much static in the air with his friends wrapped up in fresh drama. But he couldn't feel it. Someone had flipped a switch, but he was faulty. A dud bulb in the circuit; turned off and broken.

He watched them talk and heard their voices growing gradually louder and more heated, but the words didn't sink in. It was like he was half-watching a TV show; the scene reduced to background noise and shapes while he dwelt on more pressing matters. He saw Mike level the gun, watched Emily press herself back against the wall. But Chris didn’t do a thing. Maybe some other time he might have sprung to her aid and tried to talk Mike down or do… do _something_. But right then, he felt heavy. Frozen. Detached.

_Useless._

The moment stretched on, marked with tension, pulled tight like an elastic band and punctuated by pleading words. Chris saw Sam's worried expression, saw what he _should_ be feeling. But it didn't register.

“Fuck… I can't do this,” Mike said, lowering the gun.

Chris heard Emily's trembling breath and Sam's sigh of relief, vaguely sensed the tension dissipating. But nothing had changed. Nothing at all. Because Chris wasn't there anymore, not fully. Alive, yes, but barely present.

Situation diffused, Chris' gaze returned to the desk. His eyes traced the notes and followed the fragments of Josh's scrawled handwriting, painfully familiar, before settling on the flickering monitors. 

He could picture Josh down there, setting everything up, watching the group go through the motions. He could sense Josh there, almost feel the echo of his presence, his imprint on the room remaining long after he'd gone; faint, but lingering.

And he’d been alone. All alone. All that time.

The thought saddened and sickened and angered Chris all at once, but it didn't show, hidden behind an expressionless mask. It was funny how things could change so quickly. He’d felt so angry and hurt, humiliated and betrayed. But now he longed for the sick joke, for the deception, because at least that would mean everything was going to be okay. But the joke had been told, the punch line delivered, and there was nothing left to salvage anymore. 

“I'll be back soon.”

Chris watched Mike leave without fanfare, the brunette heading off on a mission with the foolhardy belief that he could find Josh, that he could somehow save them all with brash decisions and sheer will alone. But Mike hadn't seen what Chris had seen. Mike hadn't learned the lesson yet, the most important lesson of them all: that the very best intentions meant fuck all.

Chris glanced down at his hands, dirty with gunshot residue, peppered with the toll the night had taken and lightly flecked with blood. He barely noticed the way they trembled as he wiped them on his jeans.

He watched Ashley settle over the dog-eared book and felt the calm descend upon the room. But there was no respite from the thoughts. Angry voices, silence: it was all the same.

_“Your friend will already be dead.”_

Chris wrapped one arm around himself, hugging his stomach tightly, as if it might somehow hold him together.

_...He's… he's not. He can't…_

But Chris knew better than that.

He'd lost Josh again. It was happening so often, like sand trickling between his fingers, steadily and persistently falling away from him till nothing remained. He hadn't held him for so long, his grip weakening and loosening till Josh was completely out of reach.

_...he can't be…_

But he was. Dead and dead and dead again, in every possible way, step by step, mile by mile.

Every day, Josh had slipped that little bit farther away and now, finally, Josh was gone. Really gone. All because...

_...I was too late._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some places are best left unexplored.

“Dude, stop.”

Chris paused to peer at Josh over his shoulder, brow creasing with an unasked question.

“We’re not allowed in there.”

Chris waited expectantly, confused, but Josh didn’t elaborate.

“Your parents own, like, all of this, right?” Chris looked around, warming his ruddy cheeks with gloved hands as he took in the sight of the mountains looming over them, marvelling at the view like he still couldn’t believe his own words. “Crazy, but that’s what you said.”

“Yeah,” Josh conceded. “But my dad says the ground isn’t safe.”

Chris stopped a few strides from the snow-covered rock to face his friend, looking at Josh quizzically. It was strange. Parental consent had never stopped Josh bending the rules before so something was up; something that tightened Josh’s features and had the brunette standing awkwardly a short distance away.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” Josh murmured, eyes drawn to the shadows of the cave entrance, distracted.

It was Chris’ first visit to the lodge and after weeks of anticipation, excited planning and talking it up, Josh was eager to finally give Chris the tour. It wasn’t showing off, exactly. More a case of Josh wanting to share the experience and make it common ground; letting Chris in on a part of life that had been reserved for members of the Washington family alone. Josh had smiled to himself as they crossed the chasm, watching Chris press his hand to the glass as the cable car rose higher and higher. When they reached the lodge, that smile became a grin as Chris’ gaze was drawn upward to the rafters when they entered, mouth hanging open just a touch. It was nice to see everything through fresh eyes. Living vicariously through his friend, a place that Josh had taken for granted was suddenly made interesting and impressive once more.

But there were some places Josh had promised to avoid. They weren’t allowed up the fire tower - not alone, anyway - nor the caves; so many dark hidey-holes littering the mountain and woods. But it wasn’t just a case of not being allowed. Though loathed to admit it, Josh didn’t _want_ to explore them. Even in daylight, there was something about them that set his nerves on edge; filling Josh with a deep, dark sense of foreboding. Not the kind he sought out on movie screens; a morbid leaning towards the macabre that he could turn off whenever he liked. No, this was different; something real and uncomfortable that filled him with unease.

Standing at the mouth of the cave, Chris’ lips curled up into a sly smile. With a mischievous quirk of his eyebrows, he took a step closer.

“Come on, man. Don’t. My mom will lose her shit.”

“What, you scared?” Chris teased.

It was rare for Chris to be on this side of the joke. Usually Josh was the one to wind him up about things like this; pushing Chris’ buttons with grizzly tales and sinister stories. Now that he was on the other side, Chris could see the appeal.

“No,” Josh muttered, protesting a little too hard, face darkening, but it was a fleeting, momentary slip. He quickly corrected his expression, the slightest of smiles playing on his lips. “But I’m not climbing down there to save your clumsy ass when you fall over.”

“ _If_ I--”

“No, man. _When_.”

“Pfft, fine,” Chris said, letting it go. He looked up at the tall pines, blinking at the sky as he turned on the spot, voice softening. “Man… It's like a postcard or something.”

Subject changed, Josh's face relaxed and his smile grew warmer, eyes brightening. 

“There’s so much to see, bro,” he said through a grin, slinging his arm around Chris' shoulders when the blond rejoined him, leaving the darkness of the cave behind.

~*~

White... Brown...

 

Josh’s eyes were heavy, lacking the strength to do more than open just enough to let in snatches of colour and vague, unknown shapes.

 

...White...

 

Everything hurt. He could sense it, even if he couldn’t quite connect with it. But it was there; rattling around in his skull; flaring along his limbs; throbbing in his chest. 

 

White…

...Brown...

 

The colours continued to shift and change as the ground bumped beneath his broken body. His clothes were sodden - clinging to his skin, damp with snow - but the cold hadn’t reached him yet. The vice-like grip around his ankle tightened, pain flaring along his leg, horribly real, and Josh winced, eyes screwing shut as a pained whimper worked its way out of his throat; little more than a weak, rasping sound of protest.

 

White… Brown...

 

The flesh of his cheek stung badly as his face scraped along the ground, skin raw from friction and numb from snow. But he couldn’t move, energy long gone. He didn’t struggle.

 

White...

 

For a while, his mind seemed not to work and made no effort to understand what was going on around him. Perhaps it was an unconscious attempt at self-preservation, keeping him wrapped up in a reassuring brume of ignorance, but it didn’t last. Finally, a thought made its way through the stupor. Vague, sure, but it was as good a place to start as any.

_Where…?_

As if in answer, Josh heard footsteps close by; a steady, purposeful rhythm that accompanied the sad sound of his body dragging through the snow. Feeling nauseous, Josh opened his eyes, struggling to focus. Polished wingtips walked along beside him at eye level, strange and out of place in the wilderness, until a bump in the path had Josh rolling over onto his back.

Head lolling to one side, Josh strained tired eyes till his new companion became a little more defined. The man seemed overdressed and out of place in his neat, tailored suit; surely cold without a coat to shelter him from the elements, but he didn’t let it show. Noticing Josh’s confused scrutiny, the man peered down at the gormless brunette as the treetops passed by overhead.

Hill made a sound of disdain, expression grim as he met Josh’s gaze.

_Oh..._

Josh's vision clouded over as his head fell back with a jarring movement, neck too weak to correct itself. There was a grey shape ahead of him, blurry and indistinct. Like a person, almost, but Josh couldn’t make out any more than that.

More questions began to surface, slow-moving like worms through dirt as a cough rumbled in Josh's chest, making his throat ache and head throb with exertion. His mouth hung open, jaw slack, but he still couldn’t find his voice.

_Where are we going?_

Hill didn’t answer, simply raising his eyebrows as if it was obvious, slipping from sight as another dip in the trail forced Josh onto his front again, changing his view.

Josh struggled to digest what he was seeing, vaguely recognising their surroundings. To the untrained eye, the trees were just like any of the others, the path possibly one of many wending their way along the mountainside. But Josh knew better. He’d wandered those tracks over the years - long rambling walks during family vacations - and, more recently, throughout his time alone.

Yes, somehow, he knew this place, and a feeling of dread made itself known, hanging heavy, turning over in his stomach.

_We’re not… we’re not allowed to…_

“You changed the rules, Joshua. Anything goes, now,” Hill stated, casually dusting snow from his waistcoat.

_No..._

Panic managed to force its way through the fog, tightening Josh’s gut, stirring up his lazy thoughts and demanding action. His arm twitched, fingers dragging weak and ineffectual through the snow, scraping at the ground to no avail.

_But I-I don’t want--_

“I’m sorry, Josh,” Hill interrupted, but he didn’t sound sorry, no hint of sympathy in his voice. “It’s not about what you want anymore.”

The footfalls stopped as the sky above disappeared, replaced by dark fangs of rock that blotted out the moon.

“Nuh…”

Then Josh was gone, stomach lurching as the ground fell away, but it barely registered. He hit the cold, slick, rocky ground far below; all thought and breath knocked out of him with the force of the impact. Pain flared up, loud and cracking, a thick wall of sensation, but it was just an extension of what had come before.

 

White…

 

He could taste blood.

 

...White…

 

...Red…

 

… _Red_.

 

Two faces peered down at him from the lip of the hole, seeming miles away, both shrouded in shadow till only one remained. Josh couldn’t see Hill’s expression, but he felt it - quiet apathy and disinterest rendering it stern and unfeeling.

 

Red...

...Black…

 

Josh’s eyes rolled up into his head as he slipped out of consciousness.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris finds something he lost.

“Oh shit... shit, dead end!”

Dwarfed by the mass of rock, mood dampened by Emily’s grim assessment, Chris’ heart sank. His ankle throbbed painfully and every step sent a dull ache along his leg. With that in mind, the idea of having to climb up the sheer stone wall, if they even _could_ climb up, seemed impossible.

Sam was a few steps ahead of them, the beam of her flashlight following her gaze across the rock. “No no no I think I can, I think I can do it... It's like a rock wall. I'm gonna keep going.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Ugh…” Sam glanced away from the rock face to Emily. “Get back to the lodge.”

“Uh... shouldn't we stick together? Sam!”

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry I have to get to Mike... with you or without you.”

Emily sighed. “Just make it back, ok?”

Chris felt like he should have stopped her - tried to talk Sam out of it, maybe - but Emily had already turned to leave, making the decision for him. Still, he paused to watch Sam feel the cracks in the rock with her fingertips, scraping dirt out with little effort. Dry remains of creeping plants - long dead - crumbled under her touch.

Sam raised her left hand and felt around until she could hook her fingers into a gap between the stones, then did the same for her right, a little lower down the wall. She looked down and scraped the stone with the toes of her right foot until they balanced on the lip of a grey rock. Bending her left leg and raising it up, she found another foothold and slowly pushed up, lifting herself off the ground, hands and feet searching for more nooks.

Chris lingered there uncertainly.

_She’ll be fine. Sammy’s always fine._

Watching her ascend - confident movements taking her ever higher - Chris gained a little comfort from the thought and tried not to think of the alternative.

“Chris?”

He turned at the sound of Emily’s voice. She was standing a short distance away, looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry, I’m coming,” he replied on instinct. But, after a few paces, he stopped. “Wait…”

It was only then Chris realised something was wrong. Their group had shrunk; members peeling off one by one to follow their own pursuits or worse. But, somewhere along the way, they’d lost someone.

Chris swallowed, eyes widening. “Em… Where’s Ash?”

“What?” Emily asked, not understanding at first before it dawned on her too. “Oh…”

“She should have caught up by now, right?” Ignoring the pain, Chris hobbled over to join her. He shone his flashlight along the length of the tunnel, raking the shadows but finding nothing. “Ash???”

Chris’ voice echoed back to him off the walls. When no reply came, he turned to Emily; the sudden movement taking her by surprise. “Did you... When did she…?”

“I don’t rem--”

“When did you last see her?” Chris pressed, gripping Emily’s arm a little tighter than he meant to.

“I don’t know!” Emily replied, shrugging him off defensively. “Chris, I… I don’t know, okay?”

For a moment, Chris was speechless; eyes wide and desperate as he searched Emily’s gaze for answers. He’d felt lost and detached till then; weighed down by his failure; burdened and heavy. But fresh panic trembled through his tired limbs in the wake of the unwelcome revelation, quickening his breath and tightening his throat.

“We gotta find Ash.”

It wasn’t a question or a suggestion. Emily didn’t get a chance to object or voice her reluctance as Chris walked on ahead with the flashlight held out in front of him, leaving no room for an alternative. He cursed, gritting his teeth through the ache as he picked up the pace. Wincing, he called out again. “Ashley? _Ash?_ ”

Still nothing.

“Shit!”

He heard Emily’s footfalls behind him but made no effort to slow down. Driven by new fears, he pushed on.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

A knot of frustration lodged in his throat, his anger turned outward for the first time in a while. It was no secret that Ashley and Emily’s relationship had been strained since they’d discovered the bite, but Em _must_ have noticed Ashley was missing, right? Fuck, surely Sam of all people had been aware of her absence?

Yes, there was no denying that Chris was angry with them for being so clueless, for being unaware and not realising sooner. But neither had he.

Chris’ voice grew louder, tone increasingly desperate the more he called out into the darkness, each time met with silence. Eventually he slowed, unable to keep up his determined pace, but he kept looking.

“Ash??”

“Chris, wait--”

“Ashley???”

“ _Chris!_ ”

The hand on Chris’ shoulder stopped him in his tracks and he turned with a start. Emily peered up at him through the gloom, exasperated.

“Could you be any louder?” she asked quietly.

Chris thought to protest and remind Emily of the urgency of the situation, to explain that being loud was the whole fucking point of shouting. But when he met her eye, he thought better of it. There was something in Emily’s gaze, a knowingness Chris recognised. The others had heard the stranger’s stories and read his notes, letting their imaginations fill in the blanks. But they hadn’t seen the creatures up close. They hadn’t been locked in their sights or seen what they were capable of.

His gaze wandered to Emily’s bloodstained shoulder; a greater wound than the one he’d escaped with. But she hadn’t even thought to complain about it. Not once. Out of everybody, only Emily had seen what he’d seen. The apprehension in her gaze was justified. With that in mind, he heeded her advice.

Taking a breath and a moment to calm himself, Chris lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “Okay… okay…”

Side by side, they seemed to wander for a small eternity, Chris’ heart thudding in his chest, eyes wide and darting as he sought out any sign of their missing friend in the dark. His thoughts were loud in the quiet; question after question clamouring for his attention. When had he lost her? She’d been right behind them climbing down the ladder, right there following them through the tunnel. How had he not noticed till now? How the fuck was that even possible? But he knew why. He’d been feeling sorry for himself again; wallowing in his own thoughts, distracted.

He should have paid more attention, should have been more careful. After everything that had happened that night; to him, to her...

He’d fucked up again.

Chris stopped to lean against the wall, resting his weight on his uninjured leg. He half-expected Emily to push on without him, tired of his hobbling. But when he looked up, she was right there beside him.

“Where the fuck _is_ she?”

He saw a flicker of vexation cross Emily’s face, but she quickly corrected herself. “Maybe she went back to the lodge?”

“Without telling us?”

The idea was ridiculous, unlikely at best. But Chris couldn’t bring himself to quash the glimmer of hope. “What if--”

He didn’t get a chance to speculate, his words cut short by Emily’s raised hand. “Shh!”

“...What?” Chris whispered after a moment.

“Did you hear that?”

They both fell silent, listening, ears straining. At first, Chris heard nothing besides water dripping from the roof through the stagnant air. But then, finally, he heard it too. A voice. A man’s voice, maybe? One Chris knew but couldn’t quite place.

“Matt?” Emily asked, looking to Chris, seeking confirmation, and the recognition in his eyes was enough to convince her that her hunch was correct. She took a step away, moving slowly, before turning back to glance at Chris over her shoulder. “There’s another path, down there,” she said, pointing along the tunnel.

A quick scan with the flashlight confirmed the claim, revealing a path branching off to their right a little way along the tunnel ahead of them. Chris felt his stomach tighten as a sense of foreboding settled over him, stirring up his unease, but he managed to nod. Cautiously, they approached.

A few steps in, Emily paused. “Matt?”

No reply.

More halting steps followed, each one leading them farther from the lodge, deeper into the dark until, finally, the path fell away in front of them and the pair stood on a lip of rock. Chris traced the darkness with the flashlight, illuminating the rough walls and rotten wooden beams of the chamber that lay beyond the ledge; small, dark and murky, but he could still make out the rough shapes of its edges. It smelled strange down there, the pervasive scent of damp thicker than before, heavy in his lungs, mingling with something Chris couldn’t identify. Something alien and wrong that only fuelled his disquiet.

“Matt?” Emily tried again, and Chris could hear the uneasy hope in her tone, voice wavering just a touch. “ _Matt?_ ”

Again, they heard Matt’s voice; somehow muffled despite their apparent proximity. Chris followed the walls with the flashlight until it met a void in the floor, dark among the darkness. A hole, too neat to be unintentional. Man-made.

Chris swallowed, turning his head to look at Emily. “Should we go down or…?”

But Emily wasn’t looking at him. Even in the dark, Chris could tell something was wrong.

“Oh my God…” Emily murmured from behind her hand.

He followed Emily’s gaze - drawn to where the beam of his flashlight had settled - and froze. The air in the tunnel seemed to disappear, replaced by something tight and suffocating, and for a moment, Chris couldn’t breathe.

“Oh no…”

Blood - reddish black like tar - covered the dirt. Splashes. Smears. Pooling on the ground. So much blood it seemed impossible. But any hope of theatrics and movie magic quickly died. Chris couldn’t see her face, but there was no mistaking the discarded beanie, nor the auburn hair spread out around the severed head lying on the ground, damp with fresh blood.

“Oh my God no. No, no, this can't be happening…” The words tumbled out of Chris’ mouth, the only part of him that seemed able to move as he stood there paralysed, staring and staring and staring as if that would somehow make it all go away. “This can't be real please… just tell me it's not real...”

“Chris--”

“Oh no no no…”

“Fuck!”

A shriek cut through Emily’s gasp, through Chris’ thoughts; terrible and piercing. Emily was already backing away, a stride behind him before Chris realised what she’d seen. He turned the beam toward the trapdoor.

Fingers, long and slender, curled over the lip of the hole.

“Oh FUCK!”

The fear was back; gripping Chris’ throat; coursing through his veins; reducing his thoughts to that basic, desperate need to escape and survive. There was no time to deliberate, to confer or plan their retreat. Unarmed, they both knew what would happen if they didn’t act.

They ran, their footfalls echoing loudly along the tunnel. He caught glimpses of Emily ahead of him and heard her breathing hard as she gradually pulled away, Chris unable to keep up the pace, leg throbbing with the effort. It was only when he reached the ladder that he finally caught up with her. She was already at the top, struggling with the manhole cover.

“Quickly!”

“It won’t turn!”

“Move!!!”

Emily looked down at him, conflicting emotions warring for dominance of her features, but a faraway shriek made the decision for her and she quickly descended, letting Chris take her place.

He climbed the ladder, took the manhole cover in both hands and forced his fingers through the gaps, twisting it with all his might. “Come on, come on, come on, COME ON!”

At first it wouldn’t budge, but then with a whine of metal, it turned. He pushed the lid aside, clambered out of the hole and turned to look down at Emily. She followed him up, boots tapping on the rungs. The clamouring of the wendigo grew louder, closer.

“Hurry!” Chris urged.

“I _am_ hur-- !!!”

Emily’s boot slipped against the rusted metal, missing the last rung.

“EM!”

Chris reached down into the darkness, blindly holding out his hand. A second later, he felt Emily grab his arm. With a groan, he helped her up, throwing her ungracefully to the floor beside him, but there was no time to apologise as the screeching drew ever closer. Instead, he rushed to the edge of the hole.

“Fuck! Quick, the cover!”

Emily was a step ahead of him, already dragging the lid over, metal scraping against the floor. Chris took it from her and slammed it down, but even as he did, he felt force from below pressing up against it.

“SHIT!!!”

Chris smothered it desperately with his body, willing himself twice as heavy as he was. Banging came from below, incessant and angry, loud and clear, and yet no louder than his own heartbeat thumping in his chest. Fingers clawed through the gaps, sharp nails catching on his clothes, scratching at his stomach, snagging on material, so close to his skin.

_And this is how you die._

The metal shook beneath him; insistent juddering that he couldn’t fight back for long.

_This is it._

So much blood. There was so much blood down there in the dark, where she’d died all alone. And now it was his turn.

But Chris wasn’t alone. Emily's hands joined his own, pushing against the pressure from below, forcing it down with all her strength.

“Em-- fuck! Twist--”

“To the _right_!”

Still atop the cover, Chris felt around - trying to get some purchase - and turned it with Emily’s help till it slid back in place. When the metal held beneath him - hard bangs reduced to rattling and frustrated howls - Chris fell back on his hands, jarring his spine with the impact. But he didn’t get a chance to recover.

Emily was already on her feet, itching to go. “Come on!”

Chris looked around, just about coming to his senses and, with a shaky nod, pushed up from the floor. Wasting no time, they started off down the corridor, Chris fighting through the pain as he kept pace with Emily, hurrying away. But any relief he felt was short-lived as they turned a corner; banished by the clang of the metal cover hitting the wall, discarded like a bottle cap.

Chris’ eyes widened.

They’d twisted the cover, but not far enough.

“Go go go GO GO!!!”

Chris ran and ran and ran as another unearthly scream pierced the air. He ran until his calves ached and his thighs burned; heart hammering and lungs heaving.

With death behind them, they ran.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike learns that things aren’t always simple.

Mike walked on ahead, retracing his steps, eyes fixed on the exit. He didn’t want to go into that room again, that was for damn sure, but it was the only way out he knew. Alone it would’ve been difficult, nearly impossible to keep his shit together, but this was what he was good at; always had been. Calm under pressure. Level-headed. If you could concentrate on other people’s fear - try to rein that in instead - it was easier to control your own. Shifting the focus to someone else made it easier to handle.

“No… no!”

Mike didn’t look back, but he knew what Josh was looking at. He’d seen them all too clearly not long before, hanging from the rusted metal chains as he’d wandered through the macabre hanging garden of bodies. Mike hadn’t recognised him at first - head tilted skyward, face made long and strange by the hook piercing his jaw - or maybe he hadn’t wanted to, but there was no mistaking Matt’s bloodstained letterman jacket, nor Ashley’s headless body strung up by the ankle, hanging limp like something from a butcher’s shop window. He’d felt sick, overcome by nausea as he looked up at them, gagging and reeling. But he’d also felt relief, lurking guiltily among the horror.

Jess wasn’t there. Maybe there was hope for her after all.

Josh’s footfalls faltered behind him, boots scuffing on the ground. Mike heard the other man’s stuttering breath in the quiet of the cavern.

“Oh! Oh! I didn-... I didn't want you to die!”

Mike grit his teeth and pressed on. They were nearly there, so close now. They had the key and that’s what mattered. All they had to do was work their way out of the mines, get their asses back to the cable car and they’d be done. No more traps or blood or death. Just a little while longer and it would all be over.

“I know... I know I know I know... okay…” Josh mumbled, maybe to Mike, maybe to himself, Mike wasn’t sure anymore.

It was only once they’d left the room that Mike realised he’d been holding his breath. He let it out slowly through pursed lips. Standing on the bank beside the dark, uninviting water, Mike waited till he sensed Josh behind him. Psyching himself up, he sucked in a breath and reluctantly lowered himself into the water, the deadening cold chilling him to the bone before the numbness began to set in. He glanced over his shoulder and watched discomfort colour Josh’s face as he obediently followed suit.

_Nearly there. Nearly done._

Wading through the murky water, Mike shivered and bit back a curse and pushed on through the biting cold as he tried to silence his nagging doubt. The others were safe back at the lodge. All they had to do was get back to them and it would all be over.

He had to believe that.

A few more steps took him closer to the far bank, the muddy ground squelching yet firm beneath his boots.

_Just gotta get out of this shithole and we’re done._

Mike heard Josh gasping at the cold and thought to speak, maybe say something reassuring if he could still his chattering teeth long enough, but he didn’t get the chance to. At first, he mistook it for a rock beneath his foot, but when the rock moved, grabbing his ankle in a vice-like grip, Mike knew he was mistaken.

“Oh fu--!”

The curse died in his throat, mouth filling with icy water as his feet were pulled out from under him, ripping the air from his lungs. He stumbled and fell below the water, all sound blotted out as he was dragged beneath the cold, wet dark.

For a second he was too shocked to act, rendered dumb by the rushing cold, but instinct quickly took control. With no ground below his feet, he kicked as the fear swelled up in him, the movements clumsy and uncoordinated, ineffectual beneath the dragging weight and resistance of the water, his foot connecting with something unseen before it moved, dragging him farther down. He opened his eyes but they stung in the murk, unseeing through the inky black.

Alarm gripped Mike’s gut and he frantically kicked for the surface, reaching out for it with floundering arms, but touched nothing. No matter how hard he tried to get above water, it was always out of reach of his clawing fingers.

His chest was empty. He’d not been afforded a final breath.

The knot of panic in his stomach tightened and the tension in his chest grew and grew until he could no longer fight it. He breathed in, but no air came to him, just a chest full of bitter water, his insides burning despite the ice in his lungs. He would have coughed if he could, but water was all around - in his eyes, his hair - utterly enveloping him. He wanted to scream - in pain, for help - but there was no noise in him, just bubbles that billowed soundlessly, disappearing upwards as he thrashed.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t _breathe_. He couldn’t--

He kicked again and again, stamping at his captor until he was left kicking at nothing.

Mike’s heart thumped hard in his chest and suddenly he was rushing up to meet the surface, bursting through it. He choked out endless water as life returned to his freezing limbs, and he took the biggest breath he had ever taken, wheezing, gulping, mouth and eyes wide as air rushed ragged into his lungs. The shapes in the world above the pool were blurs and he struggled until he felt the ground beneath him.

His clouded vision began to clear with each wide-eyed blink, and Mike expected to be dragged under once more, pulled back down into the black. But he wasn’t the one looking death in the eye this time.

It stood a distance away, tall and terrible above the water. Its ashen skin glistened wetly, teeth bared, milky eyes wide and menacing as it loomed over Josh and glared down at him.

_Oh God..._

Mike pressed himself against the jutting rock, clothes clinging to his skin, blinking and shuddering as he gasped at the air. He tried to still his shivering body, even though every part of him was screaming to flee. Somehow, he managed.

“NO you're not real! No, you're not…”

Josh was backing away, floundering in the water. Even from his hiding place, Mike saw the horror on his face. But Josh’s efforts were in vain as slender fingers slipped around his throat, cutting his words short.

_Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…_

Mike wanted to close his eyes - to look away and block it out - but he couldn’t. Part of him wanted to do something to stop it, but he couldn’t do that either. Freezing and frozen, all he could do was stare. Josh made a choked sound as the hand tightened its grip around his throat. But, somehow, he managed to speak. Though his heartbeat hammered loud in his ears and the breath wheezed hot and raw in his chest, Mike heard Josh clearly; a breathy, desperate exhale that echoed off the cavern walls.

“Hannah!”

The creature stilled and Mike saw a flicker of recognition pass behind its cold, dead eyes. It raised its arm, lifting Josh free of the water as it continued to meet its sibling’s gaze. Josh’s legs splashed beneath him, boots kicking up water, but it did no good. And then a change; so sudden it was as if someone had flicked a switch. The terrible anger was gone, lost to a distant look that became something determined as the creature’s thoughts went elsewhere. It turned on its heel, dragging Josh through the water behind it.

“Noooo! Nooo!!”

Mike’s body relented, eyes closing tightly shut as Josh’s screams rang out until the sound died away to nothing.

A long silence descended on the cavern, broken by the sound of Mike’s trembling breath. Standing waist-deep in wet clothes, shivering from more than just the cold, Mike stared at the pool’s inky black surface and watched the ripples fade until the water was calm and still. Finally, he dared to peer around the rock.

They were gone. He was alone.

It was almost as if he was waking from a bad dream; so much happening so quickly that, for a split second, Mike could almost imagine it had never happened at all. But it had. The cold gripping his soaking wet body told him it was real. The fresh memory of Josh’s screams ringing in his ears and the pattering of his heartbeat, fluttering fast like so many butterflies in his chest told him it was real.

In the eerie silence, Josh’s words returned to him; cold and spiteful; malicious and barbed. 

_“No being the hero. You woulda liked that though, huh?”_

Mike had thought himself capable, so very much in control. But he wasn’t; hadn’t been for a long time, not since Jess had been snatched away. He saw that now. Unarmed, shivering in the cold water, he was powerless, and that thought scared him more than any monster ever could.

_“Yeah… You’d love to be the hero, but that’s not you. No, no, no. No, my friend. Not you.”_

Josh was right. He’d been right all along.

Swallowing, Mike slipped his hand beneath the water and felt around in his back pocket, tracing the shape of the key with numb fingers. Pressing his head back against the rock, he sighed soft relief.

The others were safe back at the lodge. They had to be. All he had to do was--

 _Fuck_ , but he didn’t want to move.

Mike screwed his eyes shut, huffing in frustration, but it was self-directed. Everything was supposed to be so straightforward, so simple. But, in a strange way, it was. Josh was gone. Matt and Ashley were dead. Jess was missing. Straightforward. Simple. Everything reduced to a few basic words.

_Get… Get your shit together..._

Summoning up his courage, Mike took a deep breath. Finally, he pushed away from the rock; each step a hidden danger as he waded through the water.

Survival. That’s what it all came down to now. 

Simple.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long night draws to a close.

_Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!!!_

The wendigos screamed and snarled as they tore at each other; a mess of lengthened limbs and jagged teeth in the centre of the room. The staircase was reduced to little more than splintered slats, broken wood jutting out in the wake of the devastation their brawl had wrought upon it, the coffee table knocked aside as if it were made of nothing.

And all Chris could do was stare.

Petrified, he stood there and looked on Sam and Mike up ahead, trapped in the main room beyond the fractured staircase with the grappling creatures wreaking havoc before them, so very close. Another wendigo sprung from its perch on the mezzanine balcony and joined the fray, attacking the largest of them. Somehow, his friends managed not to flinch. 

Emily stood a short distance in front of Chris, frozen in place a few steps closer to the action. Hidden from view, their presence was ignored for now, their small group paralysed; still as statues.

_Don't move._

The smell of gas finally reached him - a familiar scent that set alarm bells ringing in his head - but the hiss of the burst pipe was lost amid the sounds of the wendigos grappling with one another. He saw them as silhouettes against the darkness, watched as one ripped the other’s head from its body and tore it asunder. The victor stood tall and screamed as it tossed its fallen opponent aside, discarding its lifeless body without remorse.

_Don’t. Fucking. Move._

They were running out of time. The wendigos could tear each other apart for all the fucks he gave, but they had to get out of there.

A creak of floorboards caught the creature’s attention, deafeningly loud, and Chris’ heart skipped a beat. He watched the wendigo turn in the darkness. Raised to its full height, it strode across the room on long limbs, prowling, eyes wide and searching; a menacing figure glimpsed through the broken slats and bannisters. A few feet from Sam, it stopped.

Eyes wide, Chris’ jaw dropped.

_No no no, not you, oh FUCK!_

Another movement caught Chris’ attention, glimpsed out the corner of his eye. A grey figure shifted in the shadows, but it wasn’t a monster this time. With the creature distracted, Mike was moving farther into the room, keeping close to the wall.

Again, the wendigo screamed. Somehow, Sam didn’t move.

_Stay still! Just..._

They had to get out of there. If he could distract it or--

His gaze returned to Mike. Chris saw the brunette slowly raise his arm and grasp the light bulb beside him. Squeezing it tightly, Mike crushed it in his hand. For a moment, it didn’t make sense. But then, with the ting of cracked glass, it clicked in Chris’ mind.

The gas.

_Fuck, Mike..._

_...No..._

The crazy fuck was going to blow the place up.

The sound didn’t go unnoticed. The wendigo shrieked as it turned away, the search for Sam dismissed as it sought out new prey.

Chris swallowed. The door was close, only a few feet away. If he could--

_Just fucking GO!!!_

With the creature’s attention elsewhere, Chris chose his moment and backed away, limbs revived by the adrenaline coursing through him. He hurried out into the cold night until the snow was underfoot. Panting relief, breath steaming the air, he looked back at the lodge.

_Now what?_

His boots made uncertain footsteps in the snow as he paced back and forth, torn between the urge to run and the desire to help his friends.

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What the fuck do I do now?_

_Think. You’ve gotta think._

Okay… okay, so he could go back in and try to help somehow--

_The gas._

...But there was the gas to consider - an unspoken plan already in motion. One spark and the whole place would go up in flames. And, even without that huge fucking problem to deal with, Chris was unarmed. Hell, even if he had a gun, he’d seen first-hand what little damage they did.

_Fuck. Then... what? What do I do?!_

Self-preservation told him to leave; to run and never look back. But where? Back into the woods? With the cable car out of action, there was nowhere to run _to_.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

“Hey!”

He heard Sam’s yell and the shriek that followed.

_Oh God…_

He’d left them in there. To be ripped apart or burned to death, only time would tell. But he’d left them behind.

_You’ve gotta do it._

Steeling himself, Chris made for the porch. But the movement was premature and he stopped in his tracks, frozen by fear when a figure emerged from the doorway. He braced himself.

It wasn’t a wendigo.

Emily met him on the snowy ground. She glanced back at the lodge over her shoulder then to Chris.

“What--”

“They’re-- it’s still in there,” she replied, and Chris saw the way her gaze darted between the doorway and the world outside, as if she too was weighing up her options.

Side by side, they waited with bated breath; every muscle tense, every nerve on edge as they stared up at the darkened building. They heard more muted shrieks from inside, dampened by the wooden walls separating them from the danger within.

“Should we…?” Emily asked, but she was already taking a step backwards.

The question went unanswered, Chris’ gaze trained on the doorway.

_Come on…_

They had to make it out. They _had_ to.

_Come ON!_

“Chris, what--”

A scream cut through the air - an unearthly sound that sent a spike of fear along Chris’ veins. A moment later, another figure stumbled out into the night. Mike didn’t stop until he was well clear of the lodge, bumping into Chris’ chest with a start. They exchanged nervous glances but he, like Chris, couldn’t find his words.

Chris peered up at the lodge, a knot of desperation tightening his throat.

“Sam…” he whispered.

He’d left her behind.

Blood in the tunnel, abandoned in the dark. Blood on the shed floor, spattering frayed rope and splintered chair legs. And now there would be blood on the wooden beams; so much blood on his hands that he’d never be clean.

“Look!” Emily gestured at the sky, but Chris didn’t get a chance to see what she was pointing at.

The explosion lit up the early morning sky, tearing it in two; a brilliant searing orange that forced his eyes closed. Chris shielded his face as a wave of heat rolled over them before he was flung away, thrown to the ground.

The world was blurry when he regained his senses. Mind numb, Chris readjusted his glasses with a practiced movement and pushed up from the ground, pain flaring in his leg as he gingerly got to his feet. He looked around, his snowy surroundings made warm by the flames licking at the burning building. He saw Emily, sprawled out on the ground but moving. He saw Mike sitting in the snow, looking up at the lodge in a daze. And then, he saw her.

“Sam!”

On shaky legs, Chris staggered towards her. She was lying awkwardly some distance away, body black against the snowy ground. The night air screamed and Chris recoiled from the rush of heat passing overhead, but it was fleeting. Determined, he pressed on.

She wasn’t moving.

“SAM!”

Mike reached Sam first and, hooking his arm under hers, helped her to her feet. Only when Chris saw her eyes open, blinking confusion, did relief kick in.

“Fuck, _Sam_...”

But she was looking beyond him. Chris followed her gaze. He heard it then over the roar of the blaze. He’d been so focused on the doorway, on the lodge, that he hadn’t noticed it before: a helicopter, hovering in the sky above them.

The searchlight traced their huddled group, so blindingly bright Chris had to squint to see the helicopter's outline against the dawn sky. A moment later, it was moving on, gradually descending below the treeline some distance away.

“Where is it going?!” Emily asked, looking up at it as she frantically waved her arms. “Wait! We’re here! Come back!”

It was leaving without them. Or…

“The back lawn. It’s gotta be going there. It can’t land here. No room,” Chris said the thought aloud.

It was all the prompting the others needed. They followed Chris’ lead, weaving through the trees as they rounded the building until they saw it for themselves and pushed on ahead. The helicopter had landed in the clearing, planting itself on the snow-covered lawn. Rotors spinning, its door slid open and a figure stepped down to meet them, waving them over.

There it was. Safety. 

“Holy… What in the hell happened?” the ranger asked over the din as they drew closer, but he didn’t give them a chance to reply, already ushering them aboard. “Is anyone else inside?”

“No, there-- no,” Mike replied, waiting for Emily to climb in ahead of him before following suit.

“Wait!” Sam stopped beside the helicopter with Chris behind her, raising her voice to better be heard. “Our friends are still out there.”

“It’s not safe here with that fire burning, miss. We’ll get you to the Ranger station then circle back.”

“But…”

Her words tapered off and, unable to argue with that logic, Sam reluctantly accepted the man’s hand and clambered aboard. Chris sat down in the seat beside her opposite Mike and Emily and watched dumbly as the ranger pulled the door closed behind them before giving Emily a foil space blanket. A moment later, they were taking off.

“Is anyone hurt?”

Mike went to answer, but Sam had already begun to talk.

“There are still people down there.”

Her face was home to fresh cuts and grazes, but she didn’t seem to feel them and pressed the point with dogged determination. It was the same insistence that might have elicited a teasing ‘gee, okay, mom’ at her expense some other time, but right then, Chris welcomed it. Someone needed to take charge.

“How many?” the ranger asked, handing Sam a blanket.

At that, the group looked to each other. There had been so much uncertainty that night, so much loss and separation. It was difficult to piece it all together.

“Jess,” Mike said with conviction, looking to his friends for reassurance. “That’s one.”

“Ashley?” Sam asked hopefully, gaze flicking between Chris and Emily.

Chris felt it at the sound of her name: a pang of fresh grief.

_So much blood._

He shook his head mutely.

“How many?” the ranger pressed.

It was a struggle to think anymore; about any of it, anything at all. But, with gritted teeth, Chris forced himself to try.

Okay, so. Jess, maybe; Mike seemed set on that idea. Matt could still be out there - Emily hadn’t seemed to know for sure. And Josh somewhere, if Mike and Sam had found him in time. They’d returned empty handed, but Chris hadn’t had a chance to ask them yet. Maybe Josh was still down there? Jess, Matt and Josh. So, that made...

“Thr--”

“One,” Mike cut in.

“...What?”

He stared at Mike, but Mike couldn’t meet his eye, and Chris’ mouth twitched into another question, but no sound came out. Silently, Chris turned to Sam and searched her gaze, but she didn’t speak. She didn't have to. It was written on her face, devastatingly clear.

“One,” Mike repeated quietly with grim finality. “Jessica Riley.”

Emily turned in her seat, peering up at Mike with incomprehension. “But… Matt?”

Mike fell silent.

“Are you sure? I mean, what if--”

“Em, I-- We... saw him.” Mike looked to Sam for confirmation.

Meeting Emily's gaze, Sam gave a solemn nod.

“Oh God…”

Emily pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes darting as unwelcome thoughts passed behind her eyes. Dazed, she didn’t fight it when Mike put an arm around her, old grudges forgotten temporarily.

“When did you last see her?”

“Uh,” Mike frowned and took a moment to gather his thoughts. He seemed shaken, but with it enough to speak. “It was... midnight, I think? There’s an old mineshaft…”

Mike’s voice became a blur on the periphery of Chris’ hearing, lost in the constant whirr of the rotors. Chris could see the brunette’s mouth moving, but he wasn’t listening anymore. Gradually, the grim reality of Mike’s words began to sink in.

_One._

And there it was, laid out for them in a single word; the bleak final tally. The empty seats around them were testament to that. There was hope for Jess, one person out there to search for and save, perhaps. One left.

But not _his_ one.

Chris numbly took the blanket offered to him.

He’d felt the loss for a long time. Ever since he’d returned to the shed - the site of his failed rescue attempt - it had hung heavy over him. But somewhere, hidden deep among the grief and loss, there had always been a tiny glimmer of hope; a small spark that couldn’t be extinguished; a part of him that couldn’t fully accept what he knew deep down to be true. Now, in the wake of what he’d learned, it was fading; snuffed out by shared knowledge as the helicopter took them ever farther from the blaze below. 

_Just one._

He pulled the blanket around his shoulders, but it did little to warm him.

Fuck, he should have been more careful. He should have stayed by Ashley’s side. He should have gone with Mike to find Josh. Maybe there was something he could have done, something that would have made it all turn out okay?

_I should’ve done a lot of things differently._

But he hadn’t. And there was nothing Chris could do about it.

Chris watched the ranger exam Mike’s wounded hand. His thoughts drifted to the graffiti they’d seen at the foot of the mountain beside the cable car station. It had only been a matter of hours since he’d glanced at the scrawl, but it seemed a lifetime ago. It was Josh’s writing, Chris knew that now, connecting the dots. A message Chris was only just learning the meaning of.

THE PAST IS BEYOND OUR CONTROL

It was a throwaway statement - overtly angsty and worthy of an eyeroll - yet the words rang so painfully true after all that had happened. Josh had left it there for them. A lesson they couldn’t unlearn. A parting gift.

Belatedly, Chris realised the ranger was beside him. The man gestured to the burn across his cheek, leaning in to take a closer look, but Chris agitatedly shrugged off the attempt. When the ranger backed off to tend to Emily instead, Chris leaned back against his seat. It felt like he was sinking into it, his mind and body so very tired and heavy. 

_“You don’t have to babysit me anymore.”_

Chris’ lips stretched into a bitter smile. More words made painful by hindsight. Josh had never needed a babysitter, as he’d so bluntly put it. But he’d needed someone. Maybe not Chris, but someone. And in the end, he’d had nobody.

The scene around Chris seemed to be happening elsewhere. The ranger was talking to the pilot up front between snatches of radio conversation while the others sat there in resigned silence. The energy that had kept them moving, kept them running, had gone - completely spent - and all he saw were tired faces. With the blanket around her shoulders, Emily had shifted away from Mike to lean against the window. In her absence, Mike sat alone, looking down at his hands. For the first time that night, the brunette looked lost.

Chris felt like he should say something to fill the weary quiet, but what was there left to say? Nothing reassuring, that much he knew. They were alive, yes. Of the eight who had made the journey, they were the lucky few who had made it back. Then why didn’t he feel lucky? Or grateful? Or anything other than the deadening weight of the night’s events on his shoulders, tugging at his chest?

_But..._

In the quiet, all the what ifs and could-have-beens picked at his thoughts until he couldn't bring himself to think about them anymore. But his mind didn't listen, churning up old memories and widening the wounds.

_“Just… stay with me. For as long as you can stand it.”_

Chris winced and bowed his head with a grimace, overcome by a fresh swell of hurt. Once, that had actually meant something. But now they were a dead man’s words spoken through a crooked smile Chris hadn’t seen in the longest time, made bittersweet by memory. Josh hadn’t allowed Chris to see that promise through. He’d cut their deal short and forced Chris to go back on his word, and now all he was left with were the fruits of what had come before.

So many missed chances. So many opportunities frittered away. So many plans come undone. And there was nothing Chris could do about that, either.

_Fuck, Josh._

There was no undoing it, no going back to fix things. Not this time.

“They’re gone,” Chris spoke the thought aloud, barely audible. But Sam must have heard, for her hand slid into his own, squeezing softly. In silence, Chris followed her gaze and watched the lodge recede beyond the window, reduced to a patch of orange amid the snow-covered treetops and darkened boughs.

The tears weren’t coming. Exhaustion had wrung him dry, taking everything from him. And now there was nothing left to say. The mountain had taken it all.

Hand in hand, flying ever higher, they watched the mountain burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it! But, for anyone interested in what happens next, the sequel to this - The Mountains Are Calling - is now up. I'm not done with these kids yet...
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left such lovely feedback. This was a blast to write.
> 
> Tumblr: messofcurls-creative

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @messofcurls-creative


End file.
